


Zarry Drabbles Marathon

by dattumblrgal



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, M/M, The Princesse Diaries 2 AU, mentions of death and killing in no. 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dattumblrgal/pseuds/dattumblrgal
Summary: A collection of Zarry drabbles based of starter sentences.Originally posted on Tumblr @imlivingonawire.





	1. Chapter 1

1\. “It’s really not that complicated.” - sugar daddy au, 1.4k

2\. “Close the door.” - royal au, 1.7k

3\. “It’s three in the morning.” - canon au, 0.7k

4\. “I should’ve told you a long time ago.” - non-famous au, 1.7k

5\. “Why are you helping me?” - Hunger Games au, 3.7k

6\. “I’ve been waiting a long time.” - The Princess Diaries 2 au, 8.3k

7\. “You have to leave right now.” - boarding school au, 2.1k

8\. “Just trust me.” - ghost hunters au, 4.1k

 

please reblog the original post [HERE](http://imlivingonawire.tumblr.com/post/163877416483/zarry-drabbles)


	2. "It's really not that complicated."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sugar Daddy AU

 „It’s really not that complicated,” Harry says quite confidently and sips from his red wine. His lips are stained, the result of drowning almost a whole bottle of red. His words are slurred, no wonder. He stumbles a bit as he walks from the couch to the open patio doors. The sight of Manhattan at dusk is rather beautiful, but he doesn’t care about that, not tonight.

           “Harry, you’re fucking delusional,” Zayn snaps, “this couldn’t possibly work. We’re not in a rom-com. We’re real people and this is real world,” he’s walking around the living room like a lion in a cage. Harry can hear his footsteps too clearly for his liking. At least he’s not watching the man pace around in circles, it would make him dizzy, which wouldn’t help his intoxication one bit.

           “It’s  _not_ as complicated as you’re making it out to be,” Harry mutters, his words almost unintelligible since he’s hanging his bottom lip on the wine glass edge.

           “Oh, so I’m only  _making it out_  to be complicated? Sorry, my bad. How hard could it be to divorce your wife, who owns a percentage of your company and already hates your guts for having an affair? What could possibly be difficult about that? Tell me, Harry? Leaving your wife to be with your twenty-one-years-old lover is the simplest fucking thing in the word, according to you I guess?” Harry still doesn’t turn around and face Zayn. He doesn’t really want to. Of course he knows Zayn’s right. Falling in love with your sugar daddy is the dumbest thing one could possibly do. It’s even worse when said sugar daddy falls in love with his sugar baby as well.

           This was never supposed to turn out like that. When Harry decided at nineteen that he was tired of working a shitty job that was taking up too much of his time, time he could spend studying or partying, he set out to find a sugar daddy. The first two months were awful. He had three dinners with an old, disgusting Texan that all ended with a blowjob and $500. The money wasn’t that bad, but the blowjobs were. Harry vowed to never put his mouth near an old dick again. He also thought getting someone more long-term would be more efficient.

           Funny thing is, Harry didn’t find Zayn on any of those god-awful sugar dating websites that are littered with creeps, paedophiles and scammers. It was just a regular night out in Manhattan for Harry. One of his friends, a typical trust fund baby, dragged him to a lavish bar on Upper East Side. That’s where he met Zayn. Harry was immediately in love (lust, more like). He opened two more buttons on his shirt, tousled his hair and walked confidently, dick-first, to Zayn. All the big guns were out on the table- his pecks, his I-just-finished-making-out hair and his irresistible smile. Harry knew from the moment he saw Zayn that he needed him – in his bed, in him, in his mouth and in his life, preferably forever.

           It didn’t take a long ‘till Harry found himself naked in Zayn’s penthouse, with Zayn exactly where Harry wanted him.

           The question is: How did Zayn become Harry’s sugar daddy? Well, let’s blame it on Harry’s big mouth which he can’t keep shut when he’s tipsy even if his life depended on it. Without any preamble, Harry asked Zayn if he wanted to be his sugar daddy. Just like that. No shame and definitely no regret. Zayn laughed into his thigh, but agreed, muttering something about “new experiences” and then ruining Harry with his tongue.

           Here they were, two years later, painfully in love with each other. That wasn’t a part of Harry’s very clever plan to get money without doing much. This was supposed to be a fun little thing during college. Designer clothes, expensive dinners, some trips to places around the world maybe and a better apartment. He got all of that and something more.

           “You don’t even have kids with her, Zayn,” Harry finally turns around and faces the person he loves more than himself, “you’ve got an old dog that  _you_  got before you even married her. She holds exactly 3% of the company. That’s not enough to do anything with it. You’ve still got the majority. She can’t sue more than a million out of you, the $5 million divorce settlement you’d propose should be enough that no judge would indulge her. And I’m not just talking drunken shit right now, I’m a law student. She doesn’t love you and you don’t love her. Where’s the fucking problem then?”

           “She wouldn’t want to get a divorce, not like this,” Zayn mumbles and throws himself on the white leather sofa. Harry sets down the wine glass on a side table near one of the doors and stands in front of Zayn with hands on his hips.

           “And how the fuck do you know? Have you asked her? Or perhaps you can read minds?”

           “No,” Zayn simply says as he plays with a ring on his right hand.

           “No to what?” Harry inquires, his stance unchanged.

           “No, I haven’t asked her. But it doesn’t matter, she’d be embarrassed to admit I left her for a younger guy,” Harry huffs out a disbelieving, offended chuckle.

           “So, you’re just willing to give up on us without even trying, yeah?” Harry asks in a cutting tone. Zayn finally looks him in the eye. There’s a fierceness behind his gaze.

           “I never gave up on us. And I never would. But I don’t want to ruin your life, okay? I mean…I know I’m not happy in my marriage, but I’d rather live with someone I don’t love than be with you knowing you’re miserable. And I’m much older than you. What are your parents going to say?” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. He walks around the glass coffee table and sits down next to Zayn. Harry gently lifts Zayn’s left hand and holds it for a moment. There’s confusion laced in Zayn’s gaze, but there’s nothing that could make Harry look somewhere else than his lover’s eyes. Then he slowly slips the wedding band off of Zayn’s left ring finger and sets it on the coffee table.

           “You’re not going to need that anymore,” Harry says firmly. His tipsiness has almost disappeared completely. Whether it was the fresh New York air or important conversation about his future, that’s unknown.

           “Now tell me, how could you ruin my life by being with me? That’s exactly what I want, Zayn. You. Nothing else. You would probably ruin my life by walking away and staying with your wife. Because I’d be fucking miserable without you. And hell, you’re thirty-two not sixty-eight. I’m not a child either. Besides, my sister has already met you and she likes you. My mum knows about us. Not everything, but she knows how I feel about you,”

           “I love you, alright? I’m in love with you. Head over heels. No one forced me into it. And I don’t love you because we spent two weeks in Capri or Paris. I don’t love you because you were my sugar daddy. I love you because I’m never as happy as I am when I’m with you. I love you because you’re you,” Harry feels like his heart is going to burst with all the love he’s feeling right now. This isn’t a foolish teenage thing. He wants Zayn forever. If he’ll have him.

           “God, Harry,” Zayn lets out a breath like there’s been a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. There’s a bright smile on his face that lights up his beautiful whiskey coloured eyes as he cradles Harry’s face with his hands, “I’m such a fucking idiot for even thinking about leaving you and us behind. I love you so, so much. You’re probably the best thing that ever happened in my whole life. So, no matter how many lawyers it’ll take to get that divorce through, I’ll do it. I don’t care about the gossip that my wife will certainly create. Then we can be together how we want, even in New York. We won’t need to run away to Europe and hide in small Italian towns. We’ll be together and I’m not going to leave you until you make me.”

           “Good, because I’m not letting you go. Ever,” Harry’s last word is swallowed up by a kiss, their lips finally together. It’s Harry’s favourite form of paradise.


	3. "Close the door."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royalty AU. Not set in a specific country/era/universe.

„Close the door, “Zayn says as he finishes the letter he was writing, “you don’t want the maids to see you in my room at night. Well, they’ll talk anyway. But still,” he signs and seals it with his royal signet. Turning around in his chair gives him the sight he’s been waiting for all day. The foreign prince walking around his sitting room, grazing his fingers along the back of a sofa, studying the paintings on the walls. Confidence seeps out of his body like light out of a lit candle. He’s not worried. Not one bit.

           “So, how are you enjoying your stay at our palace… Your Highness? Am I supposed to call you that when we’re both princes?” Zayn teases. His eyes follow the prince’s movements. His long fingers on a vase, his profile lit up by candles in a candelabra, his arse and thighs snugly hugged by cream pants.

           “I prefer my name, Zayn. Although, if you were hideous I’d make you call me ‘Your Highness’,” he voices without looking at the other prince.

           “Ah, I see. Using me for nothing but my good looks, Harry. Isn’t that right?” Harry abandons picking at the décor on one of the dressers and looks at Zayn. His eyes look vibrant even in the dim light from candles and lamps. They almost look like they’re glowing. With his slow prowl and dangerous smirk, he reminds Zayn of a cat. Feral most likely.

           “Your good looks and your big cock,” Harry says it with an almost innocent smile, a complete apposite of the sly one that was adoring his face just a moment earlier. Zayn laughs, stands up and walks to Harry. They’re standing at a court appropriate distance, but there’s nothing appropriate about the desire lighting up their eyes.

           “You haven’t even done anything with it yet, though.”

           “I’m sincerely hoping that’s going to change tonight.”

           “Oh, believe me, it will,” Zayn smiles sweetly. He shortens the distance between them to a very inappropriate one. In the complete silence of the room and the whole city, they can almost hear each other’s breathing.

           Zayn reaches his hand up to Harry’s hair and twirls a curl around his finger.

           “You really are lovely. Your portraits don’t do you justice,” Zayn scans Harry’s face. From his vibrant eyes, his cheekbones and strong jaw to his pink lips that Zayn can’t wait to taste, “my sister was worried you’d be ugly and she’d have to live to see her children be ugly as well. That won’t be the case with you, will it?”

           “Now, why do you talk so much? I understand from the rumours that you’re incredibly smart and well-read, but I don’t need your intellect right now,” Harry’s words are reeking of impatience and want. Zayn obliges the unspoken request and just simply kisses Harry. And they do taste like heaven. The push and firmness of the kiss is what Zayn loves about kissing boys. They’re not tentative and hesitant like girls. Well, most of them anyway. For a kiss like that you’d have to go to a brothel and Zayn, the crown prince, can’t do that, can he?

           All while their lips are attached, tongues playing a heated game, they walk to Zayn’s bed and fall into it. It’s not long before they’re both naked, bodies finally on display for their hungry eyes. Zayn thinks he’s in love with the sight of Harry underneath him, the pale skin usually hidden behind lavish clothing out in the open.

           “What do you want?” Zayn adorns each word with a kiss on Harry’s chest as he makes his way down. Harry’s squirming under him, clearly restless and thirsty for more.

           “Fuck me. Hard,” Harry gasps out. And Zayn does just that.

           Afterwards, they’re lying curled up together, which is surprising since it’s their first time together. It feels comfortable though, almost like everything in the world led to this precise moment.

           “I’ve been here for two damn weeks. We should’ve done this much sooner. Too bad you were playing the perfect prince, who hasn’t even heard of something like fucking. Had to ambush you in the baths, otherwise I’d still be spending the nights fantasizing about your too beautiful face,” Harry mutters into Zayn’s chest where he’s laying his head. The vibration of Harry’s voice almost tickles him.

           “Hm. Fantasizing about my face, eh? I’m going to use that against you, love.”

           “Oh, shut it. As if you didn’t already know I wanted to do unspeakable things with you from the moment I saw you standing there the King and Queen. Thought you were an angel, banished to Earth for overshadowing other angels in heaven,” Harry’s talking as if he’d been drinking all night in a tavern. Zayn starts laughing so hard at Harry’s praise, he catches a blind smack on his head.

           “Why do I have to marry your sister, when you’re right here? And you’re so damn lovely. It’s not fair,” Harry mumbles. He’s drawing eight-figures in Zayn’s chest with his finger, the touch terribly soft.

           “My sister’s plenty lovely too.”

           “It’s not the same,” Harry mumbles. He sounds very sleepy so Zayn decides to just not answer. Sleep is better than the pointless what-if’s and I-don’t-want-to’s. Dreams conquer them sooner than later.

           They wake up tangled in each other arms at sunrise, rays of sunshine tickling their faces.  And that’s how most of their evenings play out. Harry comes to Zayn’s room, they fuck and then they talk. Sometimes they drink, sometimes they don’t. But it’s still almost the same every night for nearly two months.

           During the day, it’s like they’re two completely different people. They play their roles as future Kings and brothers-in-law. Zayn dutifully shows Harry around the city and pretends he doesn’t see Harry’s desperate looks during dinners. Nothing about their behaviour in public would indicate they’re fucking every night.

           The court has its gossip, of course. Nothing can be truly hidden from maids and guards. The nobility wouldn’t do anything about them, though. Rat them out to the King or some other bollocks. They all know very well that nothing, not even this, could get Zayn in trouble. The King loves his only son too much. Besides, the smarter of them know Zayn is a good person and a great prince. It doesn’t really matter to them if he fucks courtesans or foreign princes.

           On Wednesday, the week of the royal wedding, the realization of the imminent end of their romance is looming in the room like a very unpleasant angry ghost. They’re almost mechanical in bed, all of the touches and kisses just muscle memory. Afterwards, both of them are taking up one side of the bed, so far away they can’t even sense the warmth of the other’s skin.  

           Harry’s the first one to break the dreary silence, “How am I supposed to get married in four days?” Zayn turns his head to look at Harry. There’s not a single bit of emotion visible on Harry’s face. He just looks… defeated.

           “All of your ancestors did it. Mine as well. I’m going to get married to some royal girl sooner than later as well. It’s not about love or happiness, it’s our duty,” Zayn doesn’t believe that crap himself, but he tries to lift Harry’s spirits up. Even with shit talk like this.

           “I can fulfil my duty as a prince and then a king without a wife I feel nothing for, thank you very much,” Harry snarls.

           “Well, tell that to our smart fathers who arranged this marriage.”

           “Fuck them, honestly. I love you, not your sister. She sure as hell doesn’t love me. Probably hates me because there’s no possible way she hasn’t heard the gossip about us,” Harry complains. He looks every bit like a petulant child. Zayn almost smiles at that. Instead, he grabs Harry’s cheek and gently nudges him so their eyes can meet.

           “You can’t love me, Harry. It’s not possible. Not for us. Your feelings for me will only make your future life harder. You don’t want to leave this palace with a broken heart,” Harry just scoffs and twists his face away. Reluctantly, Zayn slowly drops his hand from Harry’s cheek.

           “I’m not getting married on Sunday, no matter what anyone says. There’s no fucking way I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life,” Harry abruptly grabs Zayn’s hand. The prince looks at his lover with curiosity.

           “I know you love me too. You don’t even have to say it, I know it. Run away with me. Somewhere far away from our parents. I don’t need a crown to be happy, I just need you by my side till the end of our lives,” Zayn’s sure Harry expected him to laugh. He doesn’t.

           “I can’t leave the kingdom behind in the hands of some prince one of my sisters would marry or worse, in my cousin’s hands. Your idea is too reckless,” Harry searches Zayn’s face with eager eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

           “Do  _you_  have an idea?”

           “Yes. Changing the tradition and getting married. You and me. I don’t think priests are going to like it, since we’re a sin and all that. But it’s not a lost cause. We’d have the support of my crown. This goddamn continent needs something new either way.

           “It won’t be quick or simple. We need to get your wedding cancelled first. My sister might help. She’s in love with that brute savage prince that left last week, don’t think she’s head over heels to be married to you. Are you willing to take the risk with me? For us?” it’s an ambitious plan. Almost impossible. But love makes you do crazy things.

           “Yes. God, yes. I love you. So much,” Harry chuckles wetly and cradles Zayn’s face with his hands. Their foreheads touch and it’s so intimate and so fucking perfect.

           “I love you too. We’re gonna do this. Together.”


	4. "It's three in the morning."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon Compliant.

“ _It’s three in the morning_ ,” Zayn’s voice on the other side of the phone is rough. The call must’ve woken him up.

           Harry’s sitting by his pool, legs in the chilly water. He might get a cold after this night. It’s unusually crisp for LA. It doesn’t really matter to him.

           “I know,” Harry says quietly. Words have abandoned him now that he’s doing what he thought he needed for a long, long time. What can he even say? I need you? I can’t live without you? I haven’t seen you in two years and I think I’m forgetting how your touch feels and it’s driving me crazy?

           He hears Zayn sigh and ask, “ _Are you drunk right now?_ ”

           “No,” Harry simply answer. He’s not drunk, far from it. The sobriety of his mind probably made him ask Louis for Zayn’s number and call him. The 3AM part was melancholy and heartache.

           “ _How’d you get my number anyway?”_

           “Louis.”

           “ _Oh,”_ there’s only silence then. Loads of it. They can both hear each other’s breathing over the phone. There’s nothing for them to talk about. Not right now. Truth is, about a million things has been left unsaid between them. In no universe is one phone call enough to talk through all of them. But still, Zayn hasn’t hung up on him, so Harry thinks it’s a good sign. He wants to talk, or at least not fight.

           “I miss you,” Harry breaks the silence. The words just left his mouth without permission. Or maybe his heart did give it to them. It’s been too long.

           “ _What are you trying to do with this, Harry?”_  you could probably hear his heart breaking over the sound of his name falling from Zayn’s lips. It’s the same voice, it’s the same accent, but there’s nothing familiar about the lack of emotion. If Harry looked into it too hard, he’d pick up hatred and loathing in Zayn’s voice. He knows it would be just his imagination. It’s been two years, Zayn doesn’t care about him enough to hate him.

           “Nothing. I just miss you. So, I got your number and called you. It’s been two years already,” Zayn scoffs. Harry can vividly picture him right now. Lying in bed, possibly his dogs somewhere near, the moonlight sparsely illuminating him. Harry wonders if she’s with him. Many nights, Harry was there instead of her.

           “ _Exactly. It’s been two years and I’ve moved on. I don’t need you to try and fuck everything up,”_ Harry just nods to himself.

           “ _I wanted to do this with you, don’t you dare say I didn’t. But guess what? You changed your fucking number. We’re not going to do this again. All that sneaking around, cheating and empty promises. You don’t get to do this to me now. Not when I finally-”_ Zayn cuts him himself off. Not knowing that he was about to say will certainly eat away at Harry for a long time. Normally this late at night, when he’s alone in bed. Because Harry’s a secret masochist, he settles with the rest of the sentence being “ _have a girlfriend I love and I don’t ever think about you”_.

“I know. I just- I want to be your friend again. We didn’t use to always fall in bed together,” the memory hurts more than anything.

           “ _Just…call me when it’s not the middle of the night. Bye, Harry,”_ it’s hope. It’s more hope Harry has ever encountered in his life.

           He knows he’s selfish. So, he will call. It will lead to either something terrible or absolutely fucking wonderful. Those are the only two options with them. They’re burning bright together, like the sun. Or they’re a volcano eruption, destroying themselves and everything within their proximity.

           Harry’s always been selfish, especially with Zayn. Sharing was never his strong suit. And now Zayn’s given him the tip of his finger. Harry’s not going to take just the whole hand, he’s going to take all of him.


	5. "I should've told you a long time ago."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-famous AU.

“I should’ve told you a long time ago,” it’s the first thing that leaves Harry’s mouth the second Zayn opens the door to his flat. Harry imagined this quite differently. A simple  _hello_  could’ve done as the first word of this conversation. The worse part of him, the one that made him come here and make an idiot out of himself whispers him that at least he didn’t blurt out  _I love you_  without any warning. He reckons that the evil part isn’t so wrong after all.

           Harry’s heart is currently hanging on a noose, tightened rigidly around it, pushing out precious blood while the muscle pumps and pumps with little to no result. It’s scary – knowing someone could make you do anything,  _anything_  at all just for one small piece of their love and affection. Is this how Zayn felt about him all that time ago? When they were freshmen in university, coming to London with big hopes and bigger dreams and nothing seemed impossible. It’s karma or universe’s way of retribution or anything that Harry’s mind comes up with in those few moments when he tries to believe the lie that none of this is his fault. It is. He was the one to hide from his feelings – the deep ache in his heart when he was sneaking out of Zayn’s bed almost every morning, the fire burning in his veins every time they kissed, the peace that distinguished moments when he felt like they were the only two people in the world. He was the one to be silent when all he had to say was  _I love you, too_.

           “What are you doing here, Harry?” Zayn sounds exhausted, despite looking very rested for 11AM. There are no dark circles or bags under his eyes and he smells freshly showered, like the same shampoo Harry used to steal every time he wanted to keep a piece of Zayn with him all day. No, he’s not exhausted. He’s fed up with Harry trying to play him like a violin in an orchestra band.

           “I need to talk to you. There are some things you should know because I won’t be able to live with myself if I keep quiet any longer. Just hear me out and then you can kick me out and never see me again.” Harry’s desperate enough to beg if he has to. This is his last chance.

           Zayn visibly considers all the scenarios that could happen if he lets Harry in his flat again. Harry sees it on his face, as clearly as if there were subtitles floating over his head.  _Will we fight? Yell? Scream? Throw things at each other? Will we sit on the opposite sides of the sofa, pretending like we’re strangers? All polite words that we don’t really mean because they lack about 99,9% of the emotion we really want to show? Will we fuck just like we used to a long time ago after every fight, no matter how insignificant or serious it was? The touch will be mostly muscle memory, because we’d try to conceal everything that made us…_ **us** _?_

           Eventually, he steps to the side and gestures for Harry to come inside. Harry wastes no time.

           Zayn leads him to the living room. They get seated on the opposite ends of the couch. He doesn’t offer Harry anything, not tea, not a proper glance. It’s the strangers scenario.

           “Okay,” Harry breathes out and wipes his sweaty hands on his thighs, “I’m not going to walk around this. it’s no use. You won’t like the things I’ll say but please, don’t say anything. Just- listen and let me get it all out, then you can say whatever you wanna say. If it’s nothing at all, just say the word and I’ll leave and never bother you again, yeah?”

           “Okay,” Zayn’s not nervous. His voice answers the question as if Harry was asking something mundane like  _I’m leaving, close the bathroom window in 20 minutes, yeah?._  Eyes casually set on Harry, he sits unperturbed with his legs crossed, ankle set on his knee, probably waiting for a catastrophe.

           “A little over a year ago, I made the biggest mistake of my life. Fine, that’s a bit dramatic. Anyway, I made a huge mistake. You told me you loved me and I fucked it all up. I didn’t say it back, despite every single cell in my body screaming at me to do so. It’s not because I didn’t love you, I did. I do. But I was scared. I was terrified by all the things you made me feel. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. It was constant ache and burning and it was so fucking good. My body turned into an addict when I was with you and you were the drug I couldn’t live without.

           “We were fucking around for almost three years and of course we fell in love. You just weren’t a coward to say it out loud, like I was. So, now I’m here. It’s a year late but it’s been killing me, pretending in front of our friends that everything is fine, that we’re fine. It’s dreadfully late and I know. But I love you. With every piece of my damned soul, every piece of my rotten heart and every piece of my body. Now you can kick me out, punch me, or whatever it is you wanna do.” Nothing much has changed about the way Zayn was calmly sitting on the couch. He looked unruffled, as if Harry hasn’t poured out his heart a second ago. He was a statue. One that was shooting spears straight into Harry’s heart without missing once.

           “What made you finally say all of this?” Zayn asks after endless moments of silence. And there it is. Emotion. Hidden in the way he almost whispered the words, as if his throat was tense because he was holding back tears. Hidden in the way he swallowed then, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Not so hidden in the way his cool detached poise slipped from his face and body ever so lightly. If Harry hadn’t been studying Zayn’s face, his movements, his way of doing everything, even something as simple as breathing, he would’ve missed all of it.

           “Time,” Harry replies, how own throat choked up by trying to hold it all together. He can’t start crying now.

           “What about it?” Zayn asks again and clears his throat, the Mask of Composure slowly but surely slipping further and further down and off his face.

           “I chatted with your mum. She told me you wanted to propose to Lila. The second the words left her mouth, I almost threw my phone at the wall. I was angry at myself for being stupid, for not being with you when I had the chance, when you offered your love to me. Carelessly, I threw it all away, hoping we’d continue to haunt each other’s bedrooms. We didn’t. Seeing you with Lila was hard enough as it was, seeing you marry her would probably kill me. That’s why I’m here. Trying to ruin your happiness with her, because I am a dumbass who couldn’t admit I loved you, when in reality, I couldn’t live a day without you. Don’t marry her, please,” Harry feels like he’s the worst villain Disney or comic books could come up with.

           He’d feel guilty if Zayn didn’t say then, “It’s not true.”

           “What isn’t true?” Harry’s confused. Does he mean to say that Harry’s lying, that he could very well live without him?

           “I was never going to do that. Propose to her I mean. Me and Lila visited my family a few weeks ago and the whole weekend, she was going on about us ‘taking our relationship to the next level’ or some shit.”

           “Oh,” is all Harry can get out of himself.

           “Actually, I broke up with her three weeks ago,” Harry shots his head and eyes up from where he was studying the hole in his jeans to look at Zayn. He’s staring at Harry with unexpected curiosity, almost as if he was asking him a thousand questions with just his eyes. There’s no Mask of Composure anymore. Honesty, clean slate maybe, as if they could ever have that again. What stuns Harry the most is the lack of annoyance or exasperation or anger. Zayn isn’t telling him off for trying to ruin his life and use him again. He’s not yelling at Harry to get out of his flat and never show his face to him again. He’s not calmly telling Harry he’s over their messing around in uni. No, instead he’s confessing to Harry that he broke up with the girl Harry feared might become Zayn’s wife in the near future.

           “Do you still love me?” Harry asks audaciously. Zayn chuckles and looks out of the window.

           “Harry, I don’t think anyone has ever told you no in your entire life,” Zayn says, not turning his gaze from the window to look at Harry. Harry feels like he’s going to start crying any second now.

           “I’m saying maybe. Maybe I still love you. Maybe I can forgive you for playing with me for years. Maybe I will want to be with you again,” he finally turns around and looks at Harry, “you said time made you say all that. Now I need that. Time. So, please leave. Don’t come knocking at my door with more speeches or leave me drunk desperate voice mails. When I’m ready, if I’m ever ready to talk to you again, I’ll get to you. Call you, knock on your door, whatever. Now, please just leave,” Harry feels naked under Zayn’s gaze. Not the good kind of naked, but the one that feels like a person can see under your skin. Your muscles, your bones, your soul.

           Harry doesn’t say anything in fear of starting crying and sobbing and wailing. He just nods, doesn’t look at Zayn’s inquiring eyes and leaves without looking over his shoulder. His heartache that arrived with him accompanies him out of the flat and down the stairs into the street. It doesn’t leave there, doesn’t get carried away by the brisk September wind. It stays latched onto his chest and doesn’t budge.

           Now all he can do is wait, wait, wait.


	6. "Why are you helping me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Games AU.

 “Why are you helping me?” Harry gasps out when they finally stop running, standing under an overhang of rock that leads to a dark cave.

           Just a few minutes ago, Harry got ambushed by three other tributes. District 3, both male and female and his own traitorous “partner” Jean, District 2. Walking around the Arena all by himself was the worst thing he could do.

           He was ready to fight them and then die. Despite training for this since he was a child, Harry knew he couldn’t take all three of them. One, possibly. Most likely Jean, since he trained with her before coming to the Arena and knew a thing or two about her fighting style. Still, it wasn’t enough to get out of the fight alive.

           Eventually, it was two things that saved his ass. First, the three of them were cocky and too confident. Instead of immediately killing him before he even had a chance to draw his weapon, they almost talked his ears off. It was annoying. They flaunted about how they got him so easily, like a blind mouse. It was not hard at all because Harry was foolish enough to walk around on his own. If they were alive for five more minutes, they might have all jerked off while explaining in detail how they were going to kill Harry. Total psychos.

           Harry used it to his advantage, though. He kept them talking while his hand was slowly, so slowly you almost couldn’t see it, travelling to the dagger strapped to his thigh. He had just grasped the hilt when an arrow shot past his head, digging right into District 3 guy’s forehead.

           That was thing number two. Before Jean and girl from District 3 could reach for Harry or their weapons, Harry had his dagger firmly grasped in his hand and soon deeply buried in Jean’s throat. The girl from District 3 started running for her life as soon as Jean’s limp body fell on the ground with a thud that was drowned by the sound of cannon going off two time. First for District 3 guy, then for her.

           Harry didn’t start chasing the girl that was running away like a frightened deer. He probably should’ve. She didn’t have a chance on her own, he could easily kill her without much fighting going on. Maybe Harry was just glad he was finally alone again. But no, he wasn’t alone. The arrow didn’t fire itself and it wasn’t fired by a tree either. Curiosity was what had made Harry turn around and look for his saviour instead of chasing the girl.

           And there he was, swiftly walking to Harry and grabbing his arm.

           “We have to go. She’ll come back with help and kill us both,”he said. For a few more seconds he didn’t lose his grip on Harry’s elbow, tugging him along to show Harry the right way without wasting precious seconds in case Harry went to a different path in a moment of not paying attention to his surroundings.

           Harry couldn’t not pay attention to the man walking beside him even if he tried with all his strength. He recognized his saviour as a District 1 tribute. Harry didn’t remember his name, but he did remember him killing his own District’s other tribute at the Cornucopia presumably yesterday. Time passed weirdly in the Arena.

           The man had grabbed a sword, a bag and a bow with arrows all while not getting violently murdered and managed to do it while killing three people himself. Harry was impressed, since all he had managed to take was a small bag and a long hunting dagger. He hadn’t killed anyone and had had to fight off Jean. Then he had run.

           “We didn’t take their weapons,” Harry said to the man right before they both heard the sound of running. Boots hitting the forest ground, leaves and branches crunching and breaking beneath their feet. Even without turning around, they knew what was happening.

           “Run,” was all he said before letting go off Harry’s elbow and grabbing the bow off his back, drawing in an arrow in case he had to turn around and fire it. Then they ran.

           By some crazy random happenstance or fate or whatever, they escaped and the other tributes lost their track. Harry and the District 1 tribute were standing under the overhang by the entrance to the cave, catching their breath and thanking every deity there is they’re not dead right now.

           “Why are you helping me?” Harry parrots himself once he can breathe normally. The man is looking at Harry with parted lips and calm eyes. Death is waiting for them at every corner, at every second of the day and Harry still can’t help but notice how handsome the man in front of him is.

           “I need an ally. You need an ally. We’re both trained. It’s logical,” he simply answers and then takes off his backpack, opening it and looking for something.

           “I get that but why me? Why’d you save me?” Harry inquires further. The man sighs and stands up, leaving the backpack open lying by his feet.

           “You didn’t look too slimy. Well, I hope you’re not as big of a snake as the other tribute from my District was. We can’t survive until the end each on our own,” Harry’s starting to drown in his eyes. He almost slaps himself to stop. If it goes on like that, he’s going to stab Harry while he gazes into his eyes and wonders if the colour is more of a whisky than hazel.

           “One of us is going to have to kill the other at the end anyway,” Harry said, finally setting his gaze on the space around them. Trees, a small lake not too far in the distance, darkness inside the cave.

           “True. But don’t you wanna enjoy a bit more days of your life? You’re young and so am I. Although this was what I was training to do for years and I knew I could very easily die, I don’t want to die on the second day. For myself and also for my District. It would be a shame to die so soon. So, what do you say?” Harry looks back at him and tries to focus on a different face feature of his than his captivating eyes. He’s right. Harry doesn’t want to die so soon as well.

           “If we’re supposed to be allies, maybe you could tell me you name first,” the man laughs then. A lovely sound accompanied by a bright smile. Harry notices his tongue behind his straight white teeth and how his eye crinkle and highlight his long, long lashes. He’s quite captivated by how this guy can laugh like nothing happened when there’s death and killing everywhere. It kind of takes Harry’s breath away, in the best way possible.

           “I’m Zayn. You’re Harry if I’m not mistaken,” he says with a soft smirk.

           “How do you know?” Harry asks, dumbfounded. He barely remembered anyone’s name and here is Zayn, probably knowing every tribute’s name.

           “I paid attention,” Zayn says offhandedly and crouches back down to his backpack.

           “You know,” he says and lifts his gaze up to Harry, “you should pay attention to not only people’s fighting techniques and talents, but to their personality as well. Their name is the first step.”

           Maybe an hour later, two silver containers with tiny parachutes came falling down the sky. Gifts from sponsors. After opening them, they found food in one of them and rope in the other. Thankful they didn’t have to hunt down a rabbit or two, they ate the food and decided to sleep for a bit. They didn’t start a fire and settled a schedule, one would sleep and the other would stand watch. It worked seamlessly.

           They didn’t run into another tributes for two more days. Running into isn’t exactly the term one would use, though. Maybe they’re not as savage as the others, but they’re still Career tributes. Their Districts expects them to win. Most Districts expect them to win.

           Leaving their small cave in the morning, they set out to find other people. It wasn’t difficult at all. Maybe a mile away from the cave, they found a group of tributes sitting by a river. Four people in total. Two girls, two boys. One of them didn’t look older than thirteen. Harry remembers them as tributes from District 12 and District 11.  

           Harry and Zayn hid behind a rock near them, but far enough they were out of earshot. They quickly discussed the strategy, agreeing that Zayn takes one out with a bow, so they have less people to fight one on one. That will grab their attention, but they won’t have enough time to arm themselves or find something to fight with.

           It was quick. Zayn shot the youngest one, straight in the head like District 3’s tribute. Between the four of them, they had one weapon. Getting rid of it was as easy as batting away a fly. A slit throat, two chest stab wounds and another slit throat. That was it. Four lifeless bodies lying at their feet while blood soaked the leaves and earth beneath them. Not a scratch or a bruise on Harry nor Zayn. They searched through their belongings in silence, swiftly, mechanically while the cannon provided background noise with four shots that rang in their ears for hours after that.

           That night they lit a fire for the first time. Harry was sprawled on a sleeping bag next to it, his hands crossed behind his head and Zayn was lying on his side, head propped on his hand, on the other side of the fire. Harry tried not to look too much, but he couldn’t help himself, not when the flames were reflecting on Zayn’s eyes and the colour of his irises was more amber than ever. Zayn didn’t seem to mind, though. He was staring right back at Harry. It wasn’t the kind of stare that would make Harry want to advert his gaze and never look at Zayn again. No, not at all. Something about it felt welcoming and warm. Inviting.

           “How many of them are left?” Harry asked quietly.

           “Hmm, let me think,” Zayn said and dropped on his back, “there was my other half and your other half. That’s two. Today we got Districts 12 and 11, that’s six. The District 3 guy, seven. One from District 4 and one from District 8 at the Cornucopia, nine. District 10, dunno who killed them, eleven. Oh, there was one from District 9, 7 and 5 each at the Cornucopia, fourteen. I think that’s all. Ten, including us are left. Not too shabby considering we’ve been here what, four-five days? It’s quick this year,” he was ticking of each one on his fingers. Harry’s not going to admit he was more interested in studying Zayn’s hands than thinking about people who have died, who they have killed. He’s thought about it too much already.

           “I don’t think I was ready to come here,” Harry admits. The sounds of fire and most likely fake animals outside fills the silence.

           “Why?” Zayn asks. Harry turns his head to look at him, abandoning his close examination of the cave’s ceiling. Zayn’s looking at him, honest curiosity in his eyes. Harry sits up, draws his knees close to his chest and rest his elbows at the tops of his knees.

           “The killing. I mean, I’ve trained for this for the better part of my life. And I’m good at all of it. I just never thought I’d feel so fucking horrible about taking someone’s life. I do it because I have to. It has become some sort of an instinct. I see someone here, I reach for a dagger or a sword or  _anything_ , don’t even think about it twice, and kill them. Just like that. God, Zayn, we killed a child today. That girl you shot was thirteen, at most. Why did I want to do this? Why did I dedicate my life to being a killer? Why did I come here, voluntarily?” Harry can hear the panic steadily rising in his voice. He didn’t even notice when Zayn come to his side of the fire and was now on his knees in front of him, sitting down on his calves. He was holding Harry’s wrists in his hands, both gentle and rough, calloused from years of training with weapons. He was also nonchalantly staring right into Harry’s soul with his bright, bright eyes.

           “Hey, hey, Harry. Look at me,” he said softly. Harry was already doing it. Maybe Zayn meant to  _really_  look at him and stare into his soul too. Harry tried not to drown in Zayn’s eyes in the meantime.

           “Every sane person who comes here feels like that. It’s just not something that victors talk in interviews about. Your mentor won’t tell you about the crushing guilt you’ll feel.

           “I feel like that too. It’s a… heavy burden to carry around. So, don’t worry, you’re not alone,” Harry was drowning, gasping for the last drops of air he could get before being completely underwater and irreversibly dead. Their faces were close, too close. It was more dangerous than standing unarmed in front of three people with swords.

           Zayn probably realized that the proximity of their faces was almost non-existent and he drew himself back, “Unless you’re distracting me right now, trying to get me close to you so you can just grab me and strangle me,” he laughed and Harry was suddenly ashore, gasping for breath.

           “Yeah, you’ve uncovered my big plan. What will I do now?” Harry chuckled. Zayn had a soft smile dancing on his lips.

           “I don’t know. Won’t give you any advice for sure, you could uncover my big plan,” Zayn smirked. Harry wanted to devour him.

           “I could still execute my plan, don’t get too cocky,” Harry teased.

           “Really? I’d like to see you try,” it was like a match lighting up dynamite. Harry threw himself on Zayn with precise fighting movements, but no, Harry didn’t even attempt to strangle him or hurt him in any way. Instead, he swiftly pushed Zayn down on the sleeping bag, his head nearly hitting the solid rock underneath and settled himself in Zayn’s lap. The cherry on top was Harry’s hands lightly wrapped around Zayn’s neck. Not threatening, just lying there on his hot skin where Harry could easily feel Zayn’s pulse, the slow flow of blood under his skin echoing on Harry’s.

           Zayn wasn’t scared. Surprised, maybe. But his heartbeat felt steady and his eyes were firm, unshakable as he stared right into Harry’s soul again. There was even a slight smirk on his lips before he parted them open. It was borderline erotic and Harry could feel it taking its effect on both of their bodies.

           “You almost smashed my skull open on the rock. Not the worst way to die to be honest,” Zayn said softly. Only he could make death talk sound like a love poem.

           “You like it, hm? Any last words?” Zayn just chuckled, the vibrations of it setting a shiver down Harry’s spine.

           “I could kill you right now and you wouldn’t even have the time to start choking me. I could draw your own dagger from here,” he gently squeezed Harry’s thigh around the dagger where it was sitting in its holster, “and stab you right here” his hand travelled up Harry’s right to right under his ribs, “and here,” Zayn’s hand moved to his chest and he left it there, lying right over Harry’s heart, “you wouldn’t even know when and the cannon would be going off for you,” he moves that hand one more time and Harry is really going to lose his mind. Not that he would be bothered by it, not in the slightest.

           “So, why don’t you?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

           “I don’t want to,” Zayn answered simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. It was the push Harry needed to lean down and  _finally_  place his lips on Zayn’s, his hands still being a harmless weight on Zayn’s throat.

           It was not just a dynamite then. It was fireworks, dynamite _s_  and fire. The kiss was tentative at first, a question. ‘ _Is this okay?’_  it asked. It was new, a discovery of something yet to be explored. Then Zayn’s lips moved and the kiss  _screamed_  ‘ _This is more than okay, it’s perfect. Don’t ever stop._ ’. It was heat and passion and desire, so much desire Harry felt like choking on it.

           It was undoubtedly the longest kiss in Harry’s life. Their lips were attached, tongues intertwined and spit was traded until they could no longer breathe. When Harry finally lifted his face off Zayn’s, it wasn’t far and it wasn’t for long. Their hot breath was mixing between them and all they did was search the other’s eyes for any kind of answer. Laboured breathing was they only sound they could hear.

           The only possible answer they could find without words was to kiss again. And again, and again. It came to a sudden halt when Harry rolled his hips, trying to get any friction for both himself and Zayn.

           “No, we can’t,” Zayn almost whimpered and gently threw Harry off himself and to the side. Harry scoffed and popped his head on his hand while lying on the side. Despite protesting, Zayn didn’t make any moves to get to his own sleeping bag and laid motionless next to Harry, staring at the ceiling.

           “Why not?” Harry demanded. Zayn signed and turned his head to look up at Harry.

           “There are two very good reasons. One, I’m not going to have sex with you when the whole Panem might as well be watching us. And two, I don’t want to fall in love with you when in few days, or weeks, I’d have to kill you or you’d have to kill me,” the harsh truth made itself home in Harry’s heart and then proceeded to stab him repeatedly with poisoned daggers.

           “It might be a bit late for me. You know, the second reason,” Harry whispered. There was no need for them to talk loudly. They were so close, body to body, face to face.

           Zayn gently put his hand on Harry’s neck, not very differently from how he had Harry’s hands on his throat, and started to caress Harry’s jawline and cheek with his thumb.

           “You know,” he said, eyes travelling from Harry’s lips to eyes, “telling me you love me now won’t make me sleep with you, babe. You don’t know me well enough to love me,” they both let out a small laugh. Harry’s foolish heart begged to differ.

           “It’s debatable. A man so close to his own death could fall in love in hours,” Harry argued, his voice still a whisper. Zayn just smiled, softly shook his head and kissed Harry again, so gently as if he was trying not to break the thinnest ice.

           “I’m probably going to kill myself, so I don’t have to watch you do it. I can’t die with my last though being ‘ _The person I feel so much for is about to kill me.’_ ,” Harry whispered between kisses.

           “Now you’re the one stealing my plan,” muttered Zayn and latched himself onto Harry’s neck with hot lips and cutting teeth.

           In that moment, Harry thought he could die like this. He wouldn’t be mad if someone came there right then and killed them both. He’d be happy even. There’s one thing that’s became a fact for him – he could never kill Zayn.

           While Harry was lying there, Zayn all over him (clearly forgetting about his reason number one why he couldn’t sleep with Harry), he wondered if all of it is fake, a charade and nothing more. A very clever plan Zayn had come up with to get Harry, the only other trained tribute alive, on his side until the end. He would play him, kiss him and whisper sweet words and then, when he would have Harry right where he wanted, when they would be the only two left alive, then he would mercifully kill him, knowing Harry couldn’t kill him instead.

           Right then, Zayn grabbed Harry’s left hand ever so gently and laced their fingers together. Then he brought their hands to his lips and kissed the back of Harry’s hand. That’s when all of Harry’s worries and fears slipped away and were gone.

           Harry was so lost in his thoughts and Zayn’s touch, he didn’t even feel Zayn’s hand slide up his right thigh, right where his dagger holster was still securely wrapped around his pants. His heart missed a few beats and almost stopped. ‘ _He’s going to grab it and kill me.’_ , was Harry’s first thought.

           But Zayn’s hand flew right past it, it didn’t even linger anywhere near the dagger and continued to his hip. Harry had let out a shaky breath he hoped Zayn didn’t notice. He blamed all his instincts he had been taught for years, tarnishing something that was genuinely good.

           It’s certainly a tragedy, that one of them has to die by the hand of the other. Why are the Games so cruel?  _‘If we just refuse to kill each other, maybe they’ll let us both live.’,_  Harry wonders, ‘ _or we can threaten to kill the both of us.’._

           It’s surely crazy and never done before, but maybe it could work. Harry knows Capitol good enough to keep the plan for himself. They’re always watching and listening. He’s not going to tell Zayn anything until the last second.

           There are only two possible outcomes: they both die or they both live. Now, they just have to take the chance and hope.


	7. "I've been waiting a long time."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princess Diaries 2 AU.

 „I’ve been waiting a long time, “ Zayn’s grandma Clarisse says as he comes running into the home cinema, his cat Tiger at his feet. He’s terribly, terribly late. For a split second, he thinks about using his grandma’s phrase about a queen never being late, everyone is simply just early, but since it’s her who’s been waiting on Zayn, it would definitely not apply to this situation. Maybe once he’s finally crowned, the people of Genovia calling him their ‘King’, then no one can bitch about him oversleeping or coming somewhere late (as he always does because that’s just who he is as a person).

           “Sorry, grandma!” Zayn calls out as he falls into one of the armchairs with a huff. Clarisse is used to his clumsiness over the years and in the past few months he’s been staying at the palace, the staff and guards are too.

           Charlotte is sitting next to her, and in the other armchair in front of them is his best friend Wade, clearly more enthusiastic about the pear popcorn than the Power Point presentation in front of him, currently showing the photo of some ugly Greek prince.

           They’re all here today to pick a suitable husband for Zayn because of  _tradition_  and  _law_  and  _shit old men and that nasty old bastard Lord Styles who wants his throne, pulled out of their asses._  Thanks to said tradition, Zayn needs to get married before he can take the throne and rule Genovia as its rightful King. He has to give the parliament some credit though, since they literally changed a law about same-sex marriage. It was Clarisse’s and also the prime minister’s demand and pressure that made it possible but still. If Zayn has to get married, it will be at least under some of his conditions. He likes girls alright, thank you very much, just not enough to get married to one. If he can’t find his real love and experience heartbreak, first dates and all-consuming, maddening love then at least he’ll have a husband.

           “Why are we looking at this weirdo? Have you all seen Zayn’s face? This one could get married to him only over my dead body,” Wade calls out from his seat, mouth full of popcorn. Well, he’s not wrong which is why everyone just nods in agreement and Charlotte moves the presentation to next slide. This time it shows a Spanish prince, aged 13 and according to his bio, said to be an…incredible lover? Is that right?  _That_  boy? Well, either he and his advisors have a very weird sense of humour or there’s something weird going on in Spain with kids in their early teens.

           “Please, I’m not a pedo. That’s a literal child,” Zayn whines and rather than continuing to wail over his despair and terrible suitors, he stuffs his mouth full of the famous pear popcorn. It surprises him to find that it’s not completely disgusting as he thought it would be.

           Whose face is staring at him from the next slide almost makes him choke to death with his popcorn. Immediately, Zayn stars coughing and reaching for a drink. Wade gives him a glass of water and hits his back a few times, a sympathetic smile on his face. He drinks the water and blinks at the projection a few times, making sure this is actually real and not some hallucination. Unfortunately, the man’s face with that god-awful cheeky smile is still grinning at them all.

           “Is  _that_  the one you fancy?” asks Clarisse, concern lacing her voice and also the squeeze she gives Zayn when she rests her hand on his shoulder. Zayn just shakes his head, completely dumbfounded. This shit could only happen to him, he swears to god. Why can’t he have something nice in his life just for once?

           “This is the young Lord Harry Edward Styles. He’s the only one on this list who’s your age. From what I’ve seen at your birthday ball, he’s very charming and rather gorgeous,” Charlotte couldn’t be more wrong about him.

           “He’s a snake,” Zayn proclaims, trying to look as unbothered as possible, which is quite the feat when his mind can’t seem to stop bringing up memories from his birthday ball two months ago.

           “Well, you’re not wrong, Zayn,” Clarisse sighs, “we all know the boy’s uncle is trying to steal the throne from right under our noses. It’d be enough if he were just a bit like his uncle and it’d be more trouble than we can handle. Although, we can’t judge the young Lord solely by his uncle. Maybe- “

           “He’s just like his uncle, grandma. Maybe even worse,” Zayn turns around to look at the Queen. Maybe when she sees the misery in his eyes, she’ll somehow magically convince the parliament that he doesn’t need to get married in order to rule Genovia.

           “Well, have you met him at least?” Clarisse quirks her head, the questioning look Zayn knows so well on her face.

           “Yes. And it was terrible,” he retorts and turns around in his seat, only to be greeted by Styles’ dumb face and even dumber hair staring right at him from the photo.

           “Oh? Why haven’t you told me?” Clarisse asks. Zayn clenches his jaw, trying not to get heated over the memories of Styles’ jokes, clumsy dancing that was somehow endearing and his infectious laugh. He  _actually_  liked him! Enough to sneak away upstairs for an hour and make out with him. Zayn is going to  _erase_  the memory of the blowjob he got from that lying, fraudulent bastard after that. It won’t exist if he doesn’t acknowledge it. Unless he and his heinous uncle taped it all and it’s going to end up in press when it suits their cause.

           Zayn feels more than betrayed. But it’s his own fault. He didn’t ask Styles for his name because apparently, he doesn’t think with his head but with his dick instead. And now it could cost him his  _crown_  and Genovia. His grandma will certainly kill him if that happens. The blowjob wasn’t even worth it. Not that getting his dick sucked by a pretty, but venomous Lord could ever be worth losing his kingdom over.

           “Didn’t know it was him. The asshole didn’t even introduce himself,” Clarisse just lets out a surprising huff, possibly sensing there is way more to Zayn’s story and quietly tells Charlotte to move to next slide.

           “Okay, I don’t swing that way, but this dude is gorgeous,” Wade mutters between sips of Cola.

            _James Chester Stafford, the 16 th Baron of Stafford. Aged 26, a member of the British air force, 4 years served. Currently at home in England. His hobbies include rowing, badminton and photography._

           He certainly isn’t ugly. Definitely not Zayn’s type, but anyone’s better than Styles or that boy from Spain. James is a typical British blonde with bland features. He seems nice, uncomplicated and he’s got a good title to his name. What more could the parliament want?

           “Whatever,” Zayn sighs and grabs Tiger off the floor, ready to leave this whole mess behind, “call him up for a visit. If parliament doesn’t care who I’m going to marry, I don’t as well,” he calls out after everyone and exists the room. Tiger meows in his arms. It makes Zayn smile a bit, his feline companion always on his side.

           “Maybe we should flee the country before the wedding happens, go back to San Francisco and never even think of Genovia again, what do you think, Tiger?” Zayn mutters between Tiger’s ears and gives him a small kiss on the short fur. Tiger just meows again and goes back to ignoring human struggles.

           “If only my life was as simple as yours, you lazy bastard,” Zayn sighs. This is going to be a tough few months. It’s not like everything will be better after that, no. With Zayn’s luck, he’s going to screw everything up, lose his crown (and dignity) and live to see those serpents – Lord Styles and his demonic uncle, sit on the throne his family has protected for generations.

           Three days later, James arrives to Genovia along with his parents. He’s exactly as Zayn imagined he would be – perfectly polite, unexciting and  _so not_  the person Zayn would like to marry and spend the rest of his life with. It’s not that James is  _bad_  or whatever, there’s just no attraction between them. Sure, they get on well enough. The conversations are easy and not strained at all, riding horses together on the beach was quite fun and the lack of chemistry can go  _almost_  completely ignored. As expected, at the end of the visit James formally asks for Zayn’s hand in marriage and the press goes crazy.

           Thankfully, James and his family leave after less than two weeks to go back to Britain, because James’ life doesn’t revolve only around being a prince’s fiancé and has to go back to his duties. Zayn is understandably ecstatic. As soon as James leaves, he holes up in his rooms with Tiger, his laptop and video games. Just when he thinks he’ll have a few days of peace and quiet, everything goes to shit.

           His short-lived excitement and something that may resemble happiness is shattered with a few simple words from his grandma.  _‘Lord Styles is coming to stay here tomorrow. He’ll stick around for a bit.’_  And that’s how Zayn finds himself standing in the hall by the main entrance, wearing a suit instead of sweatpants and waiting for Harry fucking Styles instead of enjoying his own company.

           “Grandma, why does he have to stay here? He’s going to report everything back to his nasty uncle and on top of all that, destroy every chance I have at enjoying myself before getting married and dying unhappy,” Zayn knows he’s whining like a baby. But staying with Styles under one roof? It’s going to drive him crazy.

           Clarisse is standing tall and confident, absolutely unperturbed by the fact she’s going to have a traitor to the crown under her roof. Zayn is walking around in circles, silently hoping he’s gonna walk a hole in the marble floor and fall right into hell. That sure does sounds sweeter than seeing Styles again.

           “I invited him, my dear. It’s better to have your enemies close to you, right where you can see them,” Clarisse shares her wisdom. If Zayn and Styles kill each other with cutlery during dinner, it’s going to be all her fault.

           “Yeah, you’re right, grandma,” Zayn mutters and instead of walking around, he stars to study a painting on the wall to his right. Genovian pears, as if forty decorative bowls and displays around the hall weren’t enough. His very, very important examination of Genovian art is interrupted by the door being open and the sound of heels on marble. A guard clicks the ground with a staff two times and announces in loud voice, “Lord Harold Edward Styles.”

           “Actually, it’s just Harry,” Zayn hears Styles say somewhere behind his back. The guard starts to apologize, but he insists it’s alright. Clarisse clears her throat, a clue and a warning for Zayn to start acting like the crown prince he is.

           “Welcome, Lord Styles. It’s our pleasure to have you at the palace.”

           “The pleasure is mine, Queen Clarisse,” Styles bows to her and stands there, his eyes watching Zayn with a bit less urgency that the Queen.

           “This is my grandson, Zayn, the future King of Genovia,” Styles bows to him as well. Zayn is just staring at him with a forced, venomous smile.

           “It’s a great pleasure to finally get to know you, Prince Zayn,” Styles says, a sweet grin on his face. He’s not fooling anyone with those long curly locks or with his puppy eyes. Not even with that ridiculous pink suit with a… _dragon_ embroidered on the pants or with those sparkly boots.

           “Interesting,” Zayn chuckles and comes closer to Styles, “must’ve been your twin at my birthday ball, Lord Styles? Or you have a doppelganger no one knows about?” Styles is lost for words and it brings Zayn a small pleasure to see him open his mouth only to wordlessly close it again.

           Zayn takes a few long strides before he’s standing in front of Styles.

           “This is for the ball,” he stays faintly, not audible enough for Clarisse to hear and stomps on Styles’ foot with all his strength. Then Zayn turns around on his heel with a satisfied smirk on his face and leaves. He absolutely does not hear his grandma call after him or Styles’ whimpers.

           Zayn gets a lecture from Clarisse in the afternoon about etiquette and how he can’t behave like a petulant child in front of nobility. He even starts to feel a sliver of guilt creeping on him, but it’s gone the second Styles starts throwing him provocative racy smirks over dinner later than evening. He even goes as far as stick an entire piece of asparagus in his mouth, all while shamelessly ogling Zayn. So this is what Styles came here to do? Spy on them and hold that hour they spent in a guest bedroom over Zayn’s head? Fine, if he wishes so. Harry Styles doesn’t know that Zayn will be capable to ignore and avoid him until he finally leaves the palace and goes back to his and his uncle’s lair.

           Zayn is extremely successful with ignoring Styles until three days later when he’s training outside. Arching is not a thing he’s tried before and to be honest, it’s a pain in the ass. Genovian tradition says that unfortunately, when a King or a Queen is crowned, they have to shoot a flaming arrow through a hoop and light it up. Completely useless, if you ask him.

           He’s just shooting arrows one after another into the target, many missing it by far when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Zayn doesn’t even need to turn around to know it’s Styles. The heeled boots he always seems to wear made enough noise on the cobblestone path to announce his presence.

           “You need any help?” Styles asks. Zayn just scoffs, draws another arrow and continues to ignore his existence. Just when he draws the bow, he feels a hot body standing too close to him.

           “You’re holding your elbow too high,” Styles whispers right into Zayn’s ear. He’s all up in Zayn’s personal space and if Styles’ cologne and lips nearly brushing his earlobe weren’t messing Zayn up too much for his liking, he’d kick Styles in the balls.

           Styles grabs Zayn’s elbow very gently and lowers it. The touch sends a shiver down Zayn’s spine and he absolutely hates his traitorous body for reacting that way.

           “Just- “Styles starts before cutting himself off and places his right hand on top of Zayn’s. He shifts Zayn’s fingers a bit and then together, their hands release the arrow. It nearly hits the bulls eye. Zayn finally gains control of his body and takes a sharp step away from Styles.

           “What are you trying to achieve with this?” Zayn blurts out. Styles blinks a few times, pretending he’s not aware of his  _own_  dirty little games.

           “Stop playing dumb, it’s annoying. You and your uncle are trying to take my throne and your role in that scheme is what? Seduce me? Is that what you’re doing right now? Is that why you agreed to stay here? Then you could’ve saved yourself the trouble, because you got it the first night we met, Lord Styles,” Zayn is seething as he throws the bow on the ground and takes off his glove. Taking a look at Styles makes him even more furious, because he’s just standing there in a fucking  _sheer_  shirt, his tits on display, looking at Zayn like a lost puppy.

           “Could you just please call me Harry?” he asks instead of trying to defend himself or refute Zayn’s accusations. His composure and emotionless face just make Zayn scoff and shake his head in disbelief.

           “You’re a damn good actor, you know that,  _Harry_? Maybe you could even get yourself a role in Game of Thrones instead of trying to play a real one here in Genovia. You’ll never get my throne. Go and tell your uncle that as well,” Harry just laughs and runs a hand through his hair.

           “Well, I think I’d look better on the Genovian postage stamps than in a Game of Thrones episode,” without even realizing what he’s doing, Zayn’s walking to Harry and stabs his chest with his forefinger.

           “You are a- “the words are swallowed by up Harry’s lips on Zayn’s. And oh, here’s that feeling from the ball again. Would it be childish to describe it as butterflies? It’s a feeling Zayn always get around Harry despite his mind telling him to get his shit together. But when they kissed for the first time it was exciting, hot and restless – it was everything Zayn wants in a kiss. Standing and just existing in each other’s presence, the sensation is muted and it  _still_  makes Zayn want to crawl out of his skin and be someone else, someone who isn’t meant to be living a quiet boring life. Mysteriously, Harry makes him want to run away from the palace and go to Ibiza or Berlin and do something that would nearly cause his grandma and mom a heart attack. Sitting still, getting married to a humdrum Brit and ruling over a country for the rest of his life feels like having to watch paint dry.

           Zayn works with his lips to get Harry’s mouth open and slips his tongue inside right away. It’s hot, it’s fast and it’s breath-taking. Their tongues are slithering together, spit is being exchanged and it’s nasty and perfect. Zayn snakes his arms around Harry’s middle and slowly lowers them to his ass. Zayn’s discovering lately that he has absolutely zero self-control and he squeezes Harry’s bum, bringing his hips closer to his own. Harry lets out a moan whose volume is way too high for an outside public space. The sound of pleasure escaping Harry’s mouth is also like an alarm for Zayn that went off and suddenly, there’s a meter separating them. He abruptly realizes who he and Harry are. He’s the crown prince of Genovia, freshly engaged and supposed to be planning his wedding. Harry’s a Lord who is trying to take his crown, conspiring with his uncle to steal his throne. Them making out in a garden is unacceptable.  

           It’s a stare-off. They’re both breathing heavily, trying to regain the regular patter of inhaling air and letting it out. Harry’s eyes are dark with desire, his lips a slick red, undeniably puffy and swollen from kissing. He’s biting his bottom lip, a challenging look on his face. It’s like he’s asking  _Is that it? One little kiss? Grabbing my ass and letting go? That can’t be all you wanna do with me._  The plush lip caught under Harry’s teeth wants to question Zayn’s entire existence and his morals. Rather than doing something stupid and reckless, like kissing Harry again or getting him naked behind a bush, Zayn shakes his head and leaves Harry without a word.

           By some astronomically big luck, no one saw them making out in the gardens which means Clarisse didn’t find out and give Zayn another lecture. It doesn’t mean the memory doesn’t haunt Zayn for the next couple of weeks. He’s angry with himself that he let Harry kiss him like  _that_ , now Harry and his uncle have even more things to hold over him. Harry is definitely here to seduce him and make Zayn cancel the wedding before it happens and there’s no way in the whole world Zayn will let that happen. There’s enough guilt he feels over making out with someone else when he’s literally  _engaged_. The disgrace he’d have on his shoulders if Harry got his throne would be too much for Zayn to shake off.

           Two weeks after The Incident, a gala celebrating Genovia’s artists is held in the palace’s gardens. And James is back. Has been for a week, during which Zayn found out his parents think he’s just some trophy wife for their dear James. They act like as if James is the prince, not Zayn. He’s complained about it to his grandma as well and found comfort in the fact that Clarisse has noticed it too. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about it. The wedding is on next Saturday and almost everything has already been arranged – royals from around the word to come visit, the ceremony and the wedding party. None of it felt real until Zayn had to go cake testing with Charlotte a few days ago. That’s when it all dawned on him – he’s getting married, at 21, to a guy he has absolutely nothing in common with and feels even less for.

           The gala was pretty uneventful until Harry Styles decided to show up with his new boyfriend or whatever. Since it’s probably Zayn’s exasperation he feeds off of, he makes a beeline for him and James, walking right to the bench they were sitting on. James was constantly trying to photograph Zayn and it was annoying, but now that Harry is here, Zayn would rather spend 8 hours with James and his stupid camera all up in his face.

           “Is that the prince and his fiancé? Good afternoon, Your Highness,” Harry arrives sauntering along with his arm candy, the well-known fake smile on his face. Zayn returns the grin, just with the right amount of fake in it. James, ever the gentleman stands up and shakes Harry’s hand. The arm candy is introduced as  _Eric von Braun_. Zayn stands up with an eye roll and shakes their hands. It’s not Eric’s fault his date is a complete villain.

           “Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. How are you two getting along in private? I’ve seen the tabloids and you two look just peachy, don’t ya?” Harry chuckles. Zayn shots him a venomous look, smiles and puts his arm around James, hugging him closer to his side.

           “Oh, we’re just amazing together, aren’t we babe?” James just nods in response, probably in shock over the amount of affection Zayn’s giving him right now, because it’s certainly the first and only time they ever resembled a couple.

           “Lovely. Could I talk to you in private, Zayn?” Harry asks. Quite bold from him to demand that.

           “And why would I do that, hm? What could we possibly talk about?” Zayn bites back, still not letting go of James. He’s a bit surprised when James takes his hand off from his side and says he should “go with Lord Styles, I can show his date around, yes?” to which Eric enthusiastically nods his head. Before he can protest, James and Eric are gone, leaving Zayn alone with Harry.

           “I’m not talking to you alone. Not ever again,” Zayn says confidently and turns on his heel to leave, walking inside the bush maze. Of course, Harry is on his heels.

           “Just stay here for a second, please,” Harry grabs Zayn by the sleeve to make him stop walking. Zayn does stop and turns around to face Harry. He was awaiting to see Harry with a malicious smirk on his face. Instead he’s facing Harry whose face is schooled into an emotionless expression, an honest one unlike the one in the gardens two weeks ago.

           “I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving tomorrow,” Harry says quietly, Zayn’s wrist in his grasp.

           “You couldn’t have told me tomorrow as you were leaving? You just had to come here with your new boyfriend and question my relationship with James? What, are you jealous?”

           Harry furrows his eyebrows. “He’s not my boyfriend. And why would I be jealous? I’ve got more of you than he probably ever will. Have you even kissed him yet? Or are you saving that for the big ceremony?”

           “You’re an asshole, Harry. Leave me alone. I truly do hope you don’t come to the wedding with your heinous uncle,” Zayn is tired of all this. Petty fighting with Harry is sometimes entertaining, but they’re taking it too far this time.

           “Don’t worry. I’d rather die than watch you get married to someone you don’t give a fuck about. It’s not like he cares about you as well. Probably agreed to marry you only to please his stuck-up parents,” there’s fierceness in Harry’s words and in the fire behind his eyes Zayn has never seen before. It leaves him quite stunned.

           “What? You think I haven’t noticed? Everyone has. His family has been bitter about not having a claim on the British crown for generations, so now when the chance arose, they want the Genovian one,” Zayn rips his arm out of Harry’s grasp.

           “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zayn hisses and Harry takes a step closer to him. He grabs his hands and holds them in his own. Zayn would never imagine that Harry Styles could look at him with something else than hate in his eyes, but he does now. Everything about this feels truthful, from the desperation in Harry’s eyes to the way he’s running his thumbs over the backs of Zayn’s hands.

           “You deserve better, Zayn. I know you’re doing this for Genovia, but you should get to spend your life with someone who loves you,” Harry’s voice is barely above whisper. Zayn shakes his head but doesn’t turn away his gaze. Harry just stares right into his eyes before dropping his sight down to Zayn’s lips and kissing him again. This time, Zayn comes to his common sense way sooner and shakes Harry off.

           “You can’t just go around here kissing me all the time!” Zayn cries out and walks away from Harry. Then he feels a strong hold on his upper arm and soon, thanks to Harry’s clumsiness, they both fall into the fountain that was behind them. The cold water is a shock and after a moment of confusion, laughter breaks up the silence between them. With only minor difficulties, they scramble out of the fountain, their suits completely soaked through and through. Not a thread has stayed dry.

           “You know, maybe you’re not as evil as your uncle,” Zayn confesses when they’re both standing on the gravel, hopefully away from the risk of drowning. Before Harry can say anything, Zayn gives him a soft smile and leaves Harry in the maze, standing there like a wet lost puppy.

           Three days before his wedding, Wade comes back from the States and throws Zayn a stag party, “ _No strippers though. They don’t have any in Genovia, bro.”_  and Zayn gets spectacularly drunk. He may have possibly cried a bit when he came home and complained about getting married without being in love to Wade, who was just as drunk as him but offered support in the way he was petting Zayn’s hair and agreeing that the whole Genovian parliament is evil and stuck in the middle ages. Maybe, just maybe, he may have said something about Harry Styles. But there’s no proof, so did he really? No one knows.

           On Friday night, the night before his wedding, Zayn’s enjoying the last few hours of being  _theoretically_ single with Wade and Tiger, doing absolutely nothing in his rooms. They’ve just started to discuss the plot twist in the last episode of Mr. Robot when they heard someone shouting outside his window. Zayn got up from the bed to check which lunatic was yelling outside at almost midnight. It turned out to be no one else than Harry Styles.  _Of-fucking-course._

           “What the fuck are you doing here?” Zayn hisses down at him. This must be a nightmare, it can’t be real life.

           “Oh, Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” Harry starts to sing but Zayn gets him to stop with a loud  _SHHH._

“You have to get out before the guards find you,” Zayn whisper-yells.

           “Come with me, there’s some ivy you can climb next to your window,” Harry says, completely ignoring what Zayn just told him. Zayn finally notices two black horses standing a few meters behind Harry. He turns to Wade with a hopeless look.

           “Go! Have an amazing sexcapade before you’re hitched. Don’t even think about it, just go!” Wade calls out, Tiger meowing as if in agreement.

           “Okay. Whatever. I’m going,” he manages to somehow climb down the ivy without falling down and killing himself. Harry greets him with a beaming smile, tells him to get on the horse and just to follow him.

           Maybe fifteen minutes later, they arrive to a small cottage by the big lake not too far from the palace. They tie the horse’s harnesses on a tree and walk to the door.

           “What is this place? Have you lured me out here to murder me?” Zayn asks when Harry starts to unlock the door. Harry laughs and shakes his head. He opens the door, gestures for Zayn to come in first and then locks behind them when they’re both inside. It’s a nice space, probably with only two rooms. The first one, where they’re standing, is a kitchen and a living room together. There’s a big round dining table, two small sofas and a coffee table. All around the walls are shelfs full of books, interrupted by plain soft grey stripes of wall with photos and small paintings hanged on them. Harry turns on a few lamps and it gives the room a very cozy feeling.

           “I’m sorry for ambushing you like that and this is a very bad idea but I needed to see you before tomorrow. I just- I was sitting around with my uncle and it just fucking hurt to think that I can never kiss you again.”

           “Harry- “Zayn sighs, but Harry doesn’t let him continue.

           “I love you. I fell for you while I was trying to undermine you, I admit it. My uncle doesn’t get it, but you’re amazing. You’re the best ruler Genovia could wish for. You’re kind and smart and reasonable. The things you did for this country…and you’re not even King yet. I could never take that away from you when I see it myself, how much you love this nation and care for the good of Genovia. And I love you. We haven’t even properly talked beside fighting and those few civil conversations in public, but it makes no difference. I want to learn everything about you and at least for one night, pretend this could be real. Because there won’t ever be a chance like this ever again. Please, I know you feel something for me too. Maybe you can pretend you could love me, just for tonight. Annoying, selfish, fraudulent me,” there’s a tear trickling down Harry’s cheek and Zayn feels like his heart might just break right then, straight down the middle. There’s the same honest look from the gala, but this time, Harry’s got not only tears but heartbreak in his eyes as well.

           Zayn wants to scream yes. Yes, yes, yes, a million yesses. He’s getting married in about twelve hours and a man who’s definitely not his fiancé is standing in front of him, telling him he loves him. The man is his real love and heartbreak, a first date and all-consuming maddening love. Harry’s everything Zayn wishes James was. He’s everything Zayn wants and all he can get is one night. A single night that is the beginning and end of this love.

           Zayn realizes there are tears leaking from his eyes same as Harry’s when Harry comes to stand right in front of him and smears them on his cheeks. He doesn’t know if he said yes, if he said anything at all because all he can think about is how green Harry’s eyes are right now, the colour highlighted by tears and the heartbreak that will follow this night like a bad sequel to a critically acclaimed movie.

           Harry lets out a shaky breath and places a small hesitant kiss on Zayn’s lips – a question asking for permission. It’s promptly followed by a second one, a third one, a fourth one, each kiss lasting a bit longer. Each kiss begging, pleading for more. Zayn initiates the fifth one – he gently holds Harry’s face to his, closing the short distance between their lips. It’s more forceful, both of them desperate for the other’s touch. Harry coaxes Zayn’s mouth open with his tongue and the kiss deepens. Their tears are mixing together into one and no matter how closely are their bodies pressed to each other, it doesn’t seem enough.

           “I need you. Please,” Harry whispers into Zayn’s ear and starts placing small kisses along the line of his throat.

           “Let’s go to bed,” Zayn breathes out and lets Harry lead him to the other room, which turns out to be a bedroom.

           They fall into bed and it goes from zero to hundred in about a second. There are no soft kisses asking for permission – it’s just passion, craving and desire. Clothes get scattered all over the floor and Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever felt something as comforting, something as  _right_ as Harry’s naked body flush against his.

           Afterward, when they’re lying in the dark bedroom, facing each other and holding hands, Zayn almost forgets he’s getting married to a completely different person in a few hours.

           “I do love you,” Harry whispers, “even though you probably think I’m lying. Believe me, I’m not. There’s nothing I could gain from lying to you right now. All I wanted was for you to know the truth.”

           “I know,” Zayn says as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind Harry’s ear. He leaves his hand on Harry’s neck, running his thumb along his jawline.

           “It’s really late, we should sleep,” Harry mumbles.

           “You can if you wanna, I won’t. All we get is one night, I don’t wanna sleep through it,” Zayn says. Harry gives him a soft smile and shifts closer to him so they’re chest to chest. Their legs are tangled and yes, Zayn could stay like this forever.

           “No way I’m sleeping when I have you here. Let’s talk. I didn’t lie when I said I want to know everything about you. Tell me about San Francisco. I’ve never been there. How is it?”

           So they talk and talk and talk until it’s sunrise and Zayn has to leave before anyone notices he was gone all night.  

           It’s never happened before. Zayn dated enough people back in America and not once he felt like this. It’s strange, it’s splendid and it’s magical. One night, just one, and yet so many things have been confided, so many childhood stories and so many random things. They laughed, they almost cried from it and they kissed so much their lips hurt. Sunrise was the warning that this is it, this is the end.

           Zayn is looking at Harry, his face and body sparsely illuminated by the soft early sunshine. Harry’s staring right back, a soft smile on his lips and his hand on Zayn’s cheek, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb. It’s been hours and somehow, they are always touching – holding hands, being in an embrace, kissing. It doesn’t matter as long as skin is on skin, body on body.

           “I don’t want to leave you,” Zayn whispers and holds Harry’s hand on his cheek.

           “Me neither. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”

           “It’s not your fault. It’s probably someone’s fault, but not ours.” They silently watch each other, eyes saying enough.

_I want you to stay here._

_I know._

           “I have to go. My fuckin’ wedding’s in like… eight hours. I need to fit a nap in there somewhere,” Zayn mutters. He figures getting out of the bed as quickly as he can, is the only way he’s gonna leave it at all. Swift, like ripping off a band-aid.

           Harry’s watching him the whole time as he gets dressed in the clothes from last night. The air around them is heavy with grief, heartbreak and even guilt. It’s suffocating.

           Wordlessly, Harry gets up as well, puts on his boxers and walks Zayn to the door. He unlocks it and when Zayn is out on the first them, Harry suddenly grabs him and turns him around to place a soft kiss on Zayn’s lips.

           “A goodbye,” Harry whispers. All of a sudden there’s a noise behind Zayn’s back that suspiciously sounds like a camera. And of-fucking-course it is one. A man in camo clothes with a hat and a big paparazzi camera.          

           “You fucking piece of shit! And here I thought you were capable of being honest. I take it back, what I said at the gala. You’re even worse than your fucking uncle,” Zayn spits out and stars to run to his horse, taking one last look at Harry’s face. He even has the audacity to look shocked. Zayn jumps on the horse and ignores all of Harry’s desperate cries. “ _It wasn’t me!” “Zayn, come back, please!” “My uncle had me followed, he did this!”_. As if any of that was true.

           Zayn rides the horse back to the palace as fast as he can and overlooks the hot tears that have decided to fall from his eyes. He also pretends like his heart didn’t just shatter into a million little pieces that will probably never mend back together again.

           He sneaks into the palace only to find Clarisse sitting in his rooms, the TV on, Genovian news showing an incredibly high definition footage of him and Harry on the stairs if Harry’s cottage. ‘ _EXCLUSIVE: Prince Zayn enjoying a rendezvous with young Lord Styles the morning of his wedding’_ , says the headline. Lovely. What a great way to start the day.

           Zayn runs out of the room before Clarisse can start to yell at him. He needs to find James and apologize, if that can even save anything.

           When he’s walking down the hallway, his phone buzzes with about five texts. At first, Zayn’s ignoring it, but not far from James’ door he decides to read them. It’s quite a lot of texts so it might be important. Or it just might be his mum or Wade yelling at him.

           “ _I just saw the news and im so so so sorry you have to believe me I didnt do it”_

_“I told you as you were leaving that my uncle had me followed and he mustve sent the man”_

_“I swear to god I would never betray you like that”_

_“I meant every single word I said this night and I do love you so I could never hurt you like this”_

_“im going to formally give up my claim on the throne so you will believe me”_

_“this is harry btw”_

           Zayn’s not sure he was breathing as he was reading the texts. It’s too conflicting and he doesn’t know if he should trust what Harry says. On one hand, Harry’s still his uncle’s nephew and not even two weeks ago, he was in the palace trying to steal Zayn’s throne.

           On the other hand, the whole night just  _couldn’t_ have been a complete lie. Why would Harry bare his soul like he did? If he wanted to just lie and get Zayn into bed with him, he didn’t need to be up all night with him and talk about his whole life. The way Harry kissed him and held onto him couldn’t have been a lie.

           “ _it doesnt really matter now since my wedding starts in a few hours”_  is all Zayn texts back and turns off his phone.

           Now he needs to make sure there will be a wedding to be started.

           Six hours later, Zayn finds himself standing in front of the church door, suit and crazy amount of concealer on to cover his dark circles. Because of his sleepless night he can barely think straight. Anxiety is pumping through his body and the only things going through his head are  _I can’t do this. I can’t let this happen. I don’t want this. Someone please cancel this._

           Instead of running away like he’s itching to, the door is open, music starts and he has to take the first step to walk down the fucking  _aisle._

           He starts to walk, his heart beating like a humming bird’s wings. All the eyes are on his, burning through his clothes, his skin. He feels fucking naked. Zayn looks at some of the members of the parliament and he wishes they felt terrible for making him do this. But then, a ridiculous idea pops into his head. They’re all here, the Prime Minister is here and Clarisse is here. Maybe he can turn this thing around. Maybe he doesn’t have to get married after all. He smiles then, for the first time since he left Harry’s bed early that morning. James gives him a small smile, probably thinking Zayn smiled at him.  _Oh, dear James, you’re gonna be smiling so much after this._

           Zayn finally arrives to the front and stands opposite James.

           “James, we’re not getting married. You deserve to find true love and so do I,” Zayn whispers, takes off the ring James gave him and sets it down in James’ palm. There’s a collective gasp from the audience.

           Without waiting for James to say anything, Zayn goes to the preaching stand. Everyone’s looking at him with curious eyes, restless to hear what’s going on, why is Zayn doing this, what will happen next. He can clearly see the old Lord Styles smirking in the audience, probably thinking Zayn’s throne will go to Harry now.

           “Hello everyone,” Zayn says into the microphone, his voice shaking a bit, “there’s a lot of you who came from outside of Genovia, so welcome. You all came here for a wedding and I’m sorry to announce that there won’t be one today. Earlier this morning, I realized that I absolutely dreaded getting married without love. But I was still willing to do it. I got as far as get dressed and come here, so I really was about to do it. For my people, for Genovia. I love this country with all my heart, despite not being born here. And my grandma has been a Queen without her husband for decades and she’s amazing. She rocks at it. So, I won’t get married, not because of a law that can be changed. I know I can rule Genovia on my own, not only because it’s my birth right to rule this country, but because I care about every single one of its citizens. Now I’m asking you to imagine your sons, grandsons and nephews. Would you put them in this situation? Force them to live without love for the rest of their lives?” It’s dead silence in the church until Lord Styles suddenly stands up, fury shooting out of him.

           “Every single time this charming Prince opens his mouth, he demonstrates a contempt for the customs of Genovia. The law is clear and it is the law. Now he wants to just change it, because of  _love!_  Fortunately, Genovia has another heir that is more than ready to get married and take the throne.”

           “No, it doesn’t,” Zayn turns his head to the door and sees Harry standing there. He feels about a hundred pounds of weigh fall of his chest. Harry didn’t lie, he’s here and  _it wasn’t all a lie_.

           “I refuse to be King. Dear members of the parliament, Prince Zayn should be crowned King. Without having to marry someone just because of the law. He’s smart, kind and caring. Genovia couldn’t possibly wish for a better King. He’s young and he’ll take Genovia and the parliament forward into the 21’s century. Listen to him and trust him. And besides, just think how lovely he’ll look on our postage stamp,” Harry smiles a bit, so delicately it’s almost invisible. He’s looking straight at Zayn and Zayn can’t take his eyes of him. He wants to do something – smile like an idiot or mouth  _I love you_  to Harry, but he knows he can’t right now.

           “Lovely on our postage stamp?!” shouts out Lord Styles, running out of the pew and after Harry who has turned around and started to walk away from the church, “you would look lovely on our postage stamp! Don’t you walk away from! You have a duty to Genovia! To your country! And to me! Come back here! For Genovia! For your father! Harry!” the door is shut behind him and the church is silent once again.

           The Prime Minister coughs next to Zayn and mutters something.

           “Are you alright? Do you want water?” Zayn asks him. He just continues to cough and then Zayn finally hears the hidden  _“Make a motion”_  he was trying to say all along.

           “Prime Minister?”

           “Yes, Prince?”

           “I move to abolish the marriage law, as it applies to present and future rulers of Genovia. Will anyone second my motion?”

           “Stare them down. Keep eye contact,” the Prime Minister whispers. Zayn looks over the room. He notices some ministers exchanging worried looks. Then one of the members stands up.

           “I second this motion. Change is good. I might even grow a moustache. And if I say so myself, this law is useless,” he says.

           “Everyone in favour say  _aye_ ,” calls out the Prime Minister. There’s a chorus of  _ayes._

           “Congratulations, Prince.”

           Zayn feels like he’s gonna jump out of his skin he’s so happy. No arranged marriage, no loveless life, no one stealing his throne. He can finally rule without stupid laws being in his way.

           There is a wedding after all. Clarisse and Joe finally stop playing around and put a ring on it. Well, it’s a few years late but they’ve admitted it at last.  

           Right after the ceremony, Zayn runs to a car to avoid reporters and calls Harry. Thankfully, he picks up after two rings.

           “ _Hello?”_ his voice sounds rough, almost as if he were crying. Zayn hopes that he was just taking a nap after the sleepless night.

           “Harry, hi, it’s me. Thanks for picking up.”

           “ _Zayn? Oh my god, hi. Are you married, did the parliament refuse your motion?”_  Harry’s clearly worried, probably pinching his bottom lip like he always does. Zayn mentally slaps himself for noticing.

           “No, no, they accepted it. The law is abolished. I don’t have to get married,” Zayn hears Harry let out a breathy laugh.

           “ _Thank god, I was so scared.”_

 _“_ Me too. Where are you?”

           “ _I’m at the cottage. Where are you?”_

“In a car. I can pick you up and you can come with me to the reception?”

           “ _What reception?”_  Zayn laughs. He completely forgot Harry wasn’t glued to the TV screen like everyone else in Genovia.

           “My grandma got married. To Joe. It’s a long story. Do you wanna come?”

           “ _Sure, why not. When will you be here?”_

 _“_ Twenty minutes tops. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

           “ _Bye.”_

           “Lionel, take me to the big lake, you know which one. There’s a small cottage near the main road,” Zayn just sits back and enjoys the houses and other building passing. In the morning, he though this will be a miserable day. Turns out it may be the best one in his life so far.

           Two weeks later, it’s the day of Zayn’s coronation. He wakes up quite early, a hand over his waist, a finger tracing his spine and a pair of bright green eyes staring right at him.

           “Good morning,” Harry whispers before Zayn even opens his eyes properly. Despite not being completely awake, Zayn smiles and puts his arm around Harry.

           “Morning, baby. How long have you been staring at me?” he chuckles. A bloom appears on Harry’s cheeks, embarrassed about watching his boyfriend sleep.

           “Just a minute or two. Didn’t wanna let go off you, so I just stayed in bed and stared at you,” there’s no trace of the shame in the way Harry smirks then, clearly encouraged by the kisses Zayn started to place all over his neck.

           “I think we should stay in bed, that’s a great idea. Just maybe doing a bit more than staring,” Zayn mumbles into Harry’s chest, tracing his skin with kisses and tongue. He has Harry under him, which has become Zayn’s absolute favourite sight in the world.

           “You’re being crowned today, love. We can’t stay in bed all day,” Harry sighs.

           “Who said it’s gonna be all day, baby?”

           Some hours later, Zayn sits on his throne as the bishop places the crown on his head. It doesn’t even seem real in that moments. He feels like he’s gonna wake up in his room in San Francisco any second, fifteen and awkward. But no, this is real. He looks over the room full of parliament members and other royals, the Genovian anthem being sang in the background and it’s real, all of it is real. He’s the King of Genovia.

           Zayn then locks his eyes with Harry’s and everything fits like a puzzle. They share a smile, saying all the important things with it – “ _I’m so proud of you.” “I love you.” “I love you too.”._  He’s so happy his heart is bursting with it. He has his country  _and_  love. It’s all he ever wished for.


	8. "You have to leave right now."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boarding School AU.

 “You have to leave right now,” Harry mumbles, his voice thick and rough. He’s barely even awake, his body and senses slowly waking up.

           Zayn just hums into his neck and continues to place wet kisses and teasing bites all over Harry’s hot skin. It’s like he’s Zayn’s own personal heater or a slice of summer sunshine, so warm and so flushed. Waking him up with kisses early in the morning before they have to part, get ready and go to class like everyone else, is easily Zayn’s favourite thing to do while he’s at boarding school.

           The room is quiet, the only soundtrack to their existence being their breathing, the sound of kisses and Harry’s occasional soft moans. At 6AM it’s always like this. No noise coming from the long hallway just outside the door, boys laughing and walking and playing music. The boys in neighbouring rooms aren’t talking or banging on the walls or moving furniture. It’s calm and serene. This time of the day is Zayn and Harry’s own little piece of paradise reserved just for the two of them.

           “You really need to leave,” Harry whines now, but makes absolutely zero moves to get out of Zayn’s arms and away from his greedy lips. He also does nothing to kick Zayn out of his bed and essentially, his dorm.

           “I do, don’t I?” Zayn whispers right into Harry’s ear and then lightly bites his earlobe. It sends a shiver down Harry’s spine and forces a small, faint moan out of him. A smile blooms on Zayn’s lips, loving how responsive Harry can be. He starts to move his hand south from where it was resting on Harry’s chest. It’s one of Zayn’s favourite feelings in the world – Harry’s skin under his fingertips. The smooth curves of his abs, the soft skin on his love handles and he’d be lying if the very long list didn’t include Harry’s ass, especially when it’s pink or even red after a spank.

           “Steven’s gonna be running up and down the halls in half an hour, waking everyone up, you don’t want- “the thought is interrupted by a gasp and a raucous moan, caused by Zayn’s hand finally reaching its destination – Harry’s half hard cock, covered by absolutely nothing. They both fell asleep naked after finishing having sex at around 2AM. Honestly, it’s a surprise they didn’t wake anyone up.

           “I’m really going to kill you and they will never find your body,” Harry groans. Zayn just chuckles, bites his shoulder and presses his own hard length against Harry’s naked ass. Harry lets out a frustrated whine.

           “You can’t do that right now. I mean it. We’re gonna get expelled, because someone’s definitely gonna hear us,” Harry protests but his words are swallowed up by a moan. One would argue that talking while being jerked off is hard, but Zayn thinks Harry’s managing just fine. He’s even being rational.

           Zayn flips them around, Harry splayed under him in all his naked glory. He settles himself between Harry’s thighs and starts running his hands up and down his sides, “The more you talk, the less time we have thus there’ll be a bigger chance of Steven finding us.”

           “Why do you have to be so horny when we have an English test on first period?” Harry asks with a soft smile on his lips. Zayn would stop in a heartbeat if Harry was genuinely worried about being late or getting busted, except there was nothing but desire and fondness in his eyes. He was relaxed, his hands slowly snaking around Zayn’s waist and pulling him closer.

           “Why do you have to be so beautiful when we have an English test on first period?” Zayn copies Harry’s remark, the same dumb loving smile plastered over his face. Harry laughs loudly, the noise an enchanting disruption of the room’s stillness.

           All of sudden, they’re interrupted by a bang. Their blood freezes when they see the noise was caused by the door knob hitting a wall. And in the doorway stands their dorm keeper, Steven.

           He’s an old gaunt man who should probably be enjoying his pension right now instead of hunting down naughty students and trying to punish them. There’s always an angry look on his wrinkled face. The freshmen are terrified of him for the first two months or so, until they all learn he’s completely harmless. Sure, he yells and will threaten you with expelling and various punishments, but they rarely come true. Zayn thinks that maybe somewhere under all of that bitterness and grimness, an old good-hearted man is hidden. Why else would students go without punishments for so many years? It’s either that or his lack of authority with other staff, which many claim is the real reason behind it.

           “Good morning, Steven. How are you today?” Zayn asks innocently, a sweet smile on his lips as he rolls off of Harry. They are lucky there was a duvet covering their naked bodies. Although, Steven has probably already figured out that they  _are_  in fact naked. Harry is hiding his face behind his hands. Zayn thinks he is terribly, terribly embarrassed, but then he notices the soft shaking of Harry’s body and he realizes that Harry isn’t masking his shame, he is masking the giggles.

           “What are you two rascals doing?” Steven hollers. Well, now the whole dorm is up, if they weren’t already woken up by the bang a minute ago.

           “Nothing. We were just lonely last night. You know, being at boarding school and all that,” Steven’s face is a good shade of crimson. If this were a cartoon, there would be steam coming out of his ears. Harry’s giggling intensifies.

           “You’re getting expelled! Both of you! Doing such disgusting things right in the dormitories? This is a respectable all-boys school! You’re supposed to be getting education, not-not this!” Steven shakes his head with clear repulsion on his face, swiftly turns on his heel and takes long steps to leave the room.

           “People are gay, Steven!” Zayn calls out after him. Then he breaks into laugher. Hysterics more like. Harry takes his hands off his face and they lay there on Harry’s twin bed, laughing so hard they’re wheezing. Steven clearly has no manners and left the door wide open, so Harry gets up wrapped in one of the blankets from his bed and shuts it. He leans against the wood with a sigh. He’s quiet, his chest rising and falling more quickly than usual, hands grasping the blanket loosely wrapped around his hips. Zayn watches him with curiosity and wonders whether this the start of a fight. Maybe they will actually get expelled this time. Then Harry starts giggling again.

           “I can’t believe you said that!” Harry’s smile beams when he turns his head around and looks at Zayn, “this is literally the highlight of my entire four years here.”

           “Always happy to sweeten your time here at this miserable institution,” Zayn shrugs with a smirk.

           “Okay, but now you really have to go,” Harry lifts his back from the door and stands in the middle of the room.

           “We still have about half an hour until people start going out of their rooms. That’s plenty of time. Come back here, baby,” Zayn lifts off the covers and wiggles his eyebrows. It almost gets a smile out of Harry. Key word – almost.

           “No. Out,” Harry says sternly and points at the door. Then he notices Zayn’s eyes sliding up and down his chest. Taking a quick look down at his body, he promptly hoists up the blanket up to his armpits.

           “C’mon, babe,” Zayn tries again, this time with a pout and his best puppy eyes. Harry just shakes his head. It seems like Harry’s will is very adamant this morning.

           “Fine,” Zayn sighs and lifts off the duvet all the way. He sits at the edge of the bed while he gathers his clothes from the floor.

           “If I fail the English test, it’s your fault,” he says when he’s fully dressed, standing in front of Harry. They’re almost the same height so their faces easily align.

           “If it all goes wrong, blame Harry.”

           “Exactly,” Zayn says with a small nod and pecks Harry’s lips. See, kissing with morning breath,  _that’s_ true love.

           “You know I love you, right,” Harry more declares than asks it, despite the sentence having a question’s built. Zayn smiles and caresses his left cheek.

           “Of course. I love you too. I’ll see you in class,” Zayn waves at Harry when he’s in the doorway. Harry, still standing in the middle of his room with a blanket around his body, waves back with a soft smile of his lips.

           Roughly an hour later they’re in Mr. Davis’ classroom, ready to take the English test. A lot of their classmates heard Steven’s morning frenzy and surprisingly, they both get a lot of high-fives from them.

           “Man, the old guy is spooked!” Patrick laughs before sitting down at his desk. Zayn and Harry share a knowing smile. The chatter is interrupted by their English teacher entering the classroom.

           “Good morning, everyone. Excited for the test?” he chirps and immediately starts handing out papers. There’s a collective groan from the class.

           “As expected,” Mr. Davis says with a smile. He continues to hand out tests, giving each student a slightly evil grin.

           “Oh, does anyone knows what’s got Steven so irritable today? He’s been going on about some ‘ _delinquents not having any dignity or modesty’._ What have you boys done this time?” Mr. Davis looks around the classroom, his eyebrows drawn together, inquisitiveness all over his face. There’s a few chuckles before Harry raises his hand.

           “It was me Mr. Davis,” he says, voice small. Zayn looks at him, trying not to laugh. He knows Harry too well to expect a confession or anything even slightly serious.

           “You see,” Harry continues, the innocent expression making you think he stole a cookie before dinner was served, not engaged in sexual activities in his dorm room, “my goldfish had died,” he says seriously. His voice almost sounds pained. Zayn tries his best to hide his laugher behind his hand.

           “My mum had just called me at 6AM and I was devastated. I dreaded the thought of having to mourn my dear Ishmael alone, so I texted Zayn and asked him to come to my room. You know, we’re very close friends,” Harry’s keeping a completely straight face while the rest of the class, including Zayn, is trying not to choke with laughter. Mr. Davis clearly questions the truthfulness of Harry’s tragic story. Zayn takes a moment to admire Harry’s ability to capture a full room of people, including the teacher, with complete and utter bullshit.

           “Being the amazing friend he is, Zayn came to my room and comforted me. Mr. Davis, you can’t imagine how horrible it was for me when Steven barged right into my dorm without even knocking! I was there, you know, mourning in my bed and Zayn was just trying to stop my sobbing. And then here comes Steven, screaming about us being rascals and threatening us with being expelled. It only added to my anguish,” Harry softly shakes his head, his lips tightly pressed together. He’s doing his best fake I’m-about-to-cry face.

           “Is it true, Mr. Malik?” Mr. Davis asks Zayn.

           He clears his throat and answers, “Yes, of course. It was very upsetting.”

           “My condolences, Mr. Styles. It must’ve been terrible to lose your dear goldfish,” Mr. Davis goes back to handing out tests, clearly seeing through Harry’s bullshit story. He’s been their teacher since freshman year, so now when they’re seniors, Mr. Davis is more than immune to all of Zayn and Harry’s pranks, jokes and antics.

           “Thank you, Mr. Davis,” Harry sniffles, dabbing his non-existent tears with the handkerchief from his blazer’s breast pocket. A boy sitting at the desk to Harry’s right laughs out loud. Harry twists his head around instantly.

           “Is my misery funny to you, Jeremy?” he asks accusingly. Jeremy fails to answer.

           “Okay, let’s just all calm down. You’re losing precious minutes. Now, let’s give Renaissance literature our full focus. I hope you’ve studied all night long, because none of you teenagers are capable to divide your time accordingly to your schedule,” Mr. Davis finishes handing out the tests, writes ’ _40 minutes’_  on the blackboard and sits down on the top of his desk.

           Before they start writing, Zayn and Harry share a mischievous grin. Certainly, they went to bed late. Only their hours weren’t filled with old Italian books and flashcards. It’s better Mr. Davis and everyone else stays oblivious to that little bit of information.


	9. "Just trust me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost Hunters AU.

 “Just trust me,” Harry smiles over his shoulder and walks closer to where their main camera guy is standing, “this is going to be the best one we’ve done so far.”

           “When have I not trusted you? I almost fell into an elevator shaft all because I trust you,” Zayn says. Two years of exploring haunted places with Harry has taught him a lot of things. By learning from his mistakes, now he knows to never move around when all the lights are shut off, so he doesn’t die by falling down a shaft or out of a window.

           “Okay, that was one time,” Harry scoffs, almost offended as if he was the one who lived through a near death experience.

           “Guys, we should be starting in three minutes max. Let’s get your mics and body cameras on,” Rylie, their tech girl and second camera person, announces, already walking to Zayn and Harry with the equipment in her hands. With quick precision, she helps them get their mics and cameras on, having done this almost a hundred times already. After it’s all in place, they grab their backpacks with more equipment and strap them on.

           “You ready, Mike?” Harry asks their camera guy.

           “Yup, go and stand right there in the middle, under one of those arches,” he points to the door from behind his camera. Zayn and Harry wordlessly move to said spot and wait for Mike’s cue.

           “3, 2, 1 and we’re rolling.”

           “What a lovely night it is, everyone!” Harry chirps, his big dimpled smile ready to make their viewers swoon, “welcome to another episode of  _Ghouls and Friends_. We’re both very happy that you amazing people have decided to join us and follow another one of our adventures. This week, we’re visiting the Waverly Hills Sanatorium, a massive abandoned complex that stays unoccupied due to the lack of tuberculosis patients that were treated here.”

           “It’s been closed down since 1961,” Zayn easily takes off where Harry’s monologue stopped, “the Sanatorium first opened its doors to patients affected by the tuberculosis epidemic in 1910. Back then, it was a medium sized two-story hospital, fit to accommodate no more than 50 patients. In 1926, a new five-story building was opened with more than 400 beds. It’s the same building we’re going to be staying in tonight. During the time this place was open, thousands of people have died here. Some sources claim the number is as high as tenths of thousands. It’s widely believed many of those souls still wander around the Sanatorium.”

           “We’re going to explore the main building and also the body chute, a long tunnel where they used to put the patients’ bodies. Fifth floor is the one we’re going to delve into more closely and where we’re gonna be sleeping as well, due to many legends that revolve around said floor. Now, let’s go inside. C’mon, there’s a lot to see tonight” Harry gestures at Mike to come closer and opens the main door.

            _Ghouls and Friends_ ’ first episode was published almost exactly two years ago on YouTube as a fun little thing Harry and Zayn did with their two film major friends. They explored an abandoned factory in Queens where apparently, three men had died in a fire and continued to haunt the building. As it’s now customary for  _Ghouls and Friends_ , they spent the night there, shivering in their sleeping bags. At six in the morning, Zayn and Harry met their ‘crew’ outside without seeing or hearing any ghosts at all.

           Most of it was Harry’s idea, as plans that unquestionably endanger Zayn’s life and well-being usually are (Harry’s not too safe as well, not that he minds). He told Zayn about trying to do  _‘a bit of exploring you know, abandoned buildings and stuff.’_  At the time, February freshman year, Zayn barely even knew Harry since they had just met at Harry’s birthday party roughly two weeks ago. Zayn, being a fan of urbex despite never trying it himself, didn’t need much convincing to agree with Harry’s plan. The fact that Harry was really fit and had a staggering smile was only a treat. When Harry asked if he minded being filmed and helping Harry film it, Zayn just laughed and said ‘ _no, as long as you’re not trying to rope me into filming some creepy porno_ ’.

           A week after that, they were standing in front of the factory with Mike and Rylie, ready to go inside and explore. While they were getting the equipment ready, Harry offhandedly said  _‘Oh, here take this. I’m not sure if I told you, but we’re gonna do some ghost hunting, if you can even call it that. Just trying to talk to the spirits a bit, maybe use a Ouija board? So, yeah, take this. It’s a device to monitor temperature changes. Not sure if it works, I got it off Amazon.’_  That was fact number one that Harry somehow failed to mention. A critically important one.

           Zayn just went along with it since he didn’t believe in ghosts. What harm could it do? At least they wouldn’t be bored, staying there all night without sleeping. (His beliefs about ghosts and demons have certainly changed after a chair was flung straight at the wall behind him that one time in New Orleans. Harry was ecstatic. Zayn almost went into cardiac arrest.)

           Fact number two that Harry just didn’t think of as essential to mention was the little detail that this in fact was supposed to be a ghost hunting show on YouTube. It took a moment to sink in and Zayn was at lost. Harry was smiling and assuring him that he didn’t need to do anything at all. ‘ _Just stands next to me and look pretty okay? I’ve got the history and everything covered and you don’t even have to talk. Well, when we’re inside I’d love it if you did since we’re gonna be there all night and I don’t want to sit in complete silence. It’s gonna be awesome, just trust me._ ’, Harry claimed. Since apparently Zayn would do anything to keep Harry smiling at him like that, he just nodded and followed Harry’s instructions. (In that moment, he had no idea that by Episode 3 he’d be doing half of the introduction.)

           The first episode of  _Ghouls and Friends_  got quite a lot of hype. Neither of them expected it, really. There was no communication or contact with ghosts, their Ouija attempt failing miserably and still, the video hit 150,000 views in less than two weeks.

           The comments revealed why. A slew of ‘ _omg u guys are so cute’, ‘I cant believe there are hot ppl hunting ghosts’_ and ‘ _you guys are so hot together omg I ship this’_  quite clearly revealed why their views jumped so high so fast.  

           At first, Harry was a bit upset that people didn’t watch  _Ghouls and Friends_  for the ghost hunting, but for him and Zayn. There were people who clicked on the video because they thought the two of them were cute or because they thought Zayn and Harry were dating. And that misconception is completely Zayn’s fault. During a 47-minute episode, he managed to call Harry ‘babe’ dozens of times and them sitting on Harry’s sleeping bag, bundled together under one blanket because of the cold, certainly did help convince the viewers they were more than friends. Little did they know Zayn calls  _everyone_  babe and he’s a cuddle monster (a fact Harry discovered very soon into their friendship).

           Zayn of course told Harry to stop whining over something positive. Viewers are viewers, no matter what they watch the show for. When Harry scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, Zayn sighed and comforted Harry by saying that ‘ _of course people watch it for the ghosts as well, you can’t even see our faces for better part of the episodes’._ Harry shrugged and said ‘ _you’re right, as long as the viewers are happy I don’t care’._

           And somehow here they were, two years, 43 episodes and one television offer later. They are about to graduate from college in a few months and quit  _Ghouls and Friends_  for-not-so-ever. It grew very close to their hearts, there may be an episode once or twice a year just to reminisce on the good old times.

           “So, this is where we’re going to be staying tonight,” Harry announces while looking around one of the former nurses’ station. It’s grimy, dark and creepy – unsurprisingly so.

           “Lovely,” Zayn remarks ironically and drops his sleeping bag on the dusty floor. Even after two years of doing this, he’ll never get used to staying in filthy places. Thankfully, it’s always only for one night.

           “Mike and Riley set up a few night vision cameras around the room and also in the hallway to monitor everything while me and Zayn are asleep. No ghouls are getting out of here without being taped!” Harry’s enthusiasm is probably one of the reasons why people even watch  _Ghouls and Friends._  Even the most unpleasant or scariest thing sounds happy and positive when it comes out of Harry’s mouth. He talks about ghosts, death and demons the same way he talks about his favourite movie or kittens.

           Mike turns off the camera. “Well, I’m leaving. This place truly gives me the creeps. Me and Rylie are just outside in the RV, text us if you need anything.”

           “Sure thing, bro. You sure you don’t wanna swap with me?” Zayn gives Mike a half-hug and laughs.

           “Not for a million dollars. It’s crazy enough I follow your asses around here at night. Bye guys,” Mike leaves with a wave, his footsteps echoing in the long hallway. Now it’s just Zayn and Harry, almost identical to all those nights they’ve spent in haunted places. This is one of the more unfortunate instances. It’s dusty, cold and there are bugs everywhere. Zayn misses those few episodes they did in haunted hotels that still function to this day.

           “You really don’t want to stay here? Because if you’re like, scared, I think I could manage on my own. Or we don’t have to do the Ouija board if you want. I mean- “

           “It’s fine babe, really. I was just teasing Mike. But an RV would certainly be better in this cold.”

           “Don’t be a piss baby, we can cuddle,” Harry baits and pulls out the Ouija out of his backpack. Without even having to talk, Zayn sets up a camera on a short stand, aiming it directly at the board between their two sleeping bags.

           “Okay, you ready?” Harry asks when he’s seated on his bag. Zayn just nods and settles down as well.

           It’s almost routine. They place their fingers on the planchette, call out to any spirits that might be listening and wait for anything to happen. Sometimes it does, but usually it’s fruitless.

           “Is there a boy named Timmy?” Harry asks and looks around the room, as if a ghost popped right up at the sound of its mortal name.

           A force of some kind moves the planchette along with their fingers. It slides on the wood until it settles on the word  _YES_. Zayn and Harry share a wide-eyed glance. Zayn’s is surprised, laced with complete terror but Harry’s full of nothing but delight. He even starts to smile down at the board.

           “Would you like to play with us?” Harry asks ‘Timmy’. Zayn starts to violently shake his head and mouth ‘ _NO’_ about a hundred times. Harry ignores him of course.

           “I don’t want to play, Timmy, no offense. But Harry would sure love it,” Zayn calls out to the room. Harry lets out a loud scandalized gasp.

           “Don’t tell him my name!” he hisses.

           “If he’s here, he’s heard it like forty times already,” Zayn argues.

           “Okay, but don’t do it while we’re talking directly to him!”

           Their bickering is interrupted by the strange force moving the planchette again. This time it starts to spell out something.  _D-O-N-T_. Zayn and Harry meet their gazes over the board where their fingers are being dragged all around it with a questioning look.  _F-I-G-H-T._  Zayn is sure his heart is about to jump out of his chest and fall on the board with a smack. He’s not sure he’s even breathing at this point.

           “We’re not fighting, Timmy,” Harry’s voice shakes as he says it, “I promise.”

           The planchette is being moved again.  _L-E-A-V-E-M-E-A-L-O-N-E._

           “Alright, Harry, we need to leave. Like right now,” Zayn’s more than ready to take all his stuff and get out of this building and never come back. Timmy can have it all to himself.

           But Harry just shushes him and asks another question. “We won’t bother you anymore, Timmy. I promise we’ll leave first thing in the morning. Can we stay here for the night? We won’t disturb you anymore, okay?” Harry’s a lunatic. Zayn knows it now. Trying to stay in a place after a spirit clearly asked them to leave? There’s something that suspiciously smells like death wish.

           The force moves the planchette to  _YES._  Zayn closes his eyes and curses under his breath. This isn’t how he imagine his death would play out. He wanted to die at maybe 80, in an actual death bed, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Being violently murdered by the spirit of a fucking child at the ripe age of 21 definitely wasn’t the plan.

           “Thank you so much, Timmy. Now we’re going to say goodbye and leave you to sleep or play, or whatever you wanna do. Goodbye and thank you for talking to us.”

           When all communication with the spirts in afterlife is over, Zayn smacks his hands over his face and lets out a lengthy loud whine. “I can’t believe what you just did. Harry, do you really wanna die that bad?”

           “Stop whining, we’re gonna be fine. Also, didn’t I tell you earlier tonight that this is going to be the best episode yet?” Harry’s smiling like a fucking child at a fair who just bought the biggest cotton candy.

           “Yeah, well if there’s HD footage of me getting murdered by a ghost, people are sure gonna click on it and enjoy it. I can guarantee you that 99,9% of those people will think it was fake.”

           “We’re not gonna get murdered!” Harry exclaims as he unzips his sleeping bag and slides inside.

           “Whoa, make some room for me. Didn’t you promise cuddles? It’s fucking cold in here,” Harry laughs and lifts the top of his sleeping bag, allowing Zayn to climb in. It’s a bit cramped, but it helps to fight the cold away.

           “You know, when a demon or whatever tries to snatch me by the ankles and drag me on the floor to like…an elevator shaft to kill me, it’s gonna drag you along with me because we’re in one sleeping bag,” Zayn mutters into Harry’s neck. This is how they always sleep if they’re sharing a sleeping bag. Harry insists on being the little spoon and Zayn does not mind at all.

           “Hm,” Harry hums, “what if it opens the sleeping bag and only drags you out?”

           “That’d be just evil. Besides, you were the one to talk to it.”

           “ _You_  didn’t want to play with Timmy. Also, when will you stop mentioning that elevator shaft? I know it was terrifying for you to almost fall into one, but maybe don’t give the spirits ideas?”

           “You’re right,” Zayn whispers and tightens his grip around Harry’s middle, “I don’t wanna die before I’ve graduated.”

           “Me neither.”

           No words are exchanged for quite some time afterwards. Neither of them mind it. Comfortable silence is something that Zayn and Harry are used to. Spending dozens of nights together without like…zero entertainment has made them grow to like and enjoy it. It doesn’t mean they don’t know how to talk to each other. No, it’s quite the opposite. When they want to, they can chat and gossip about things all night long. There have been nights when they’ve talked and laughed until the early morning when sun finally came through again. Sometimes, mostly when fatigue takes over their bodies, they just pick the silence.

            At nights when they’re pressed close together like now, the silence is even better. It’s just the heat of their bodies and the feeling of them touching almost inch to inch. It’s nice, being able to exists with someone in complete silence and still be happy with it.

           “You awake?” Harry whispers after some time.

           “Yes,” Zayn answers. Harry then quickly turns around in his arms. Their faces are separated by barely three inches, their breath mixing somewhere in-between.  

           “I’ve been thinking. Overthinking more like. And it’s been honestly driving me crazy,” Harry’s voice shakes a bit, not in the way it did when Timmy told them to stop fighting. His green eyes are bright in the darkness and they’re staring right into Zayn’s eyes.

           “Can I kiss you?” Harry whispers after a moment, eyes searching Zayn’s face for an answer, a clue, a  _yes._  Zayn lets out a shaky, breathy chuckle. They’re in an abandoned haunted Sanatorium, surrounded by spirits that are not happy with them at all and Harry just simply asks Zayn if he could kiss him. This is the kind of mad ridiculous things that made Zayn join Harry in this foolish quest to explore haunted places and contact ghosts. It’s probably why Zayn has been half in love with him for two years.

           Instead of giving Harry an answer, Zayn closes the gap between them and kisses Harry. That gets a surprised hum out of him before Zayn feels Harry move his lips against his. So this is how it feels like, kissing Harry. It’s soft, not rough at all. Harry’s lips are chapped but Zayn doesn’t care about any of that. They’re in sync with each other, taking the kiss further and further without even having to ask. It’s good, more than good and Zayn feels like something  _finally_ settles in his chest. It’s the first sip of strong coffee in the morning but it’s also the first sip of vodka on a night out, when you can’t wait to feel the buzz of alcohol in your veins and let go of everything for a bit.

           Every new surge of passion, every time the kiss accelerates it’s like coming up for air after jumping into deep water. It’s speeding up on a highway so fast your stomach almost turns with excitement and frenzy. It’s everything Zayn ever imagined and more.

           When their lungs are almost screaming for more air, they finally part but don’t move too far from each other. Zayn is holding Harry’s neck with one hand, looking directly into his eyes. Harry’s holding his cheek, staring at him, lips red and puffy, his mouth gently parted. They can feel each other’s hot breath on their faces, somehow a reminder of what they just did.

           “Why haven’t we done this sooner?” Harry sighs as if he couldn’t believe their foolishness.

           “I wanted to. Ever since I met you,” Zayn confides. His gaze drops away from Harry’s eyes, almost as if in shame and guilt. Harry encouragingly strokes Zayn’s cheek with his thumb.

           “Why didn’t you?” Harry inquires softly, his voice almost lost in the reticent room.

           “Didn’t think you liked me like that. You know, I partly agreed to go ghost hunting with you only so I could maybe ask you out on a date later. But like…I never felt like you’re into that or more like…into me. So, I never asked,”

           “How-What- “Harry lets out a frustrated huff, “I’ve been crushing on you since I first laid my eyes on you at my birthday party. Why do you think I asked you to go with me when I barely even knew you? How haven’t you noticed that?”

           “We’re a disaster,” Zayn laughs, shaking his head lightly at how blind they both were. If this were a comedy, or a rom-com, Zayn would definitely make fun of the characters.

           “You always had a girlfriend or a boyfriend, you asshole!” Harry lightly hits Zayn’s shoulder, “that’s why I stayed quiet the whole time.”

           “I didn’t think you liked me! What was I supposed to do? Just wait around till I win you over with my good looks and amazing wit?”

           “Yes!” Harry tries to make a move to jab Zayn’s ribs when there’s a loud sound coming from some other part of the floor they’re at. A rambunctious bang that sounds like a door being slammed closed. They both freeze immediately before clutching to each other like crazy.

           “We need to shut the fuck up if you don’t want to be killed by Timmy tonight,” Zayn whispers. Was this Timmy’s way of telling them not to argue again?

           “Shut the fuck up,” Harry hisses. His fingers are digging deep in Zayn’s back and sides which Zayn finds weirdly comforting and soothing.

           “You know, Riley is gonna laugh her ass off when she edits this,” Zayn smiles. He can already hear the endless teasing they’re gonna get from her. Riley’s evil self might even leave the kissing part in the final cut of the episode just to mess with them and further embarrass them with the comments from their viewers. It’s gonna be a bloodbath.

           “Yeah, she definitely will. We’re never gonna hear the end of it,” Harry chuckles, “let’s go to sleep, yeah? Timmy is probably tired of our shit at the moment.”

           “Yeah, good idea. We’ll talk in the morning. If we don’t die, of course. Then we’ll talk in the afterlife. Night, babe,”

           “I’m gonna kill you if you don’t stop,” Harry mutters, leaving a long pause before saying good night as well.

           In the morning, they wake up very much alive, still in each other’s arms. They’re quick to take off all the cameras and pack their things to leave this goddamn place behind. Riley is waiting for them outside with coffee and breakfast.

           “Surprised you didn’t freeze to death there,” Riley yaws as she swaps the equipment with them for Starbucks and pastries. Zayn and Harry share a knowing smile, leaving Riley with a muddled look on her face.

           When they’re in the RV, somewhere on a highway on the long drive back to New York, they definitely feel safe enough to bicker again, away from Timmy’s murderous ghost child hands.

           “Did you that whole Timmy thing to mess with me?” Zayn asks, not lifting his eyes from his Twitter timeline on his iPhone.

           “No? Why would I?” Harry shots him a perplexed look, face illuminated by his own phone screen.

           “Dunno,” Zayn mumbles, “it’s just really scary to think that a child ghost threatened us. I still can’t believe I agreed to stay there. You know, we’re lucky we’re not dead right now.”

           “ _I_  can’t believe you’re still bitching about this,” Harry chuckles. Zayn looks at him, finding Harry staring at his own iPhone, his eyebrows drawn in concentration, a little crease popping right between them. He smiles to himself and scoots right next to Harry, nudging his knee with his own. Harry turns to look at him, his lips soon with a matching smile on them.

           “You know, I always bitch and complain about this, but I’d never change any of it. These two years, going places and trying to talk to ghosts with you was better than anything. Even though sometimes we sleep on dusty floors and I’m scared shitless that a ghost will kill me in my sleep. But I’ve done it all with you right there with me, with that big dimpled smile on your face aiming right at a Ouija board, being cheerful while talking to all kinds of entities. And I’m very happy I got to know you and see you in your element, because to me, it’s pretty damn enchanting. So, thank you for inviting me to go with you all that time ago,” Zayn’s scared that this little speech is a bit too much. Basically a love confession without using the words ‘ _I love you’_  explicitly. All his worries drop when Harry beams at him, showing that smile Zayn has grown to adore so much.

           “You’re very much welcome,” Harry smirks and leans down to kiss him.

           Riley, who has been sitting opposite them the whole time, grins from behind her laptop, shaking her head at them with a smile. They’ve figured it out at last.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is it. Maybe I'll write a few more drabbles when I'll have time, but who knows? Leave kudos and a comment if you liked any of these! <3


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